


Help Wanted

by elementalv



Series: The Key's Watcher [1]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-28
Updated: 2003-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new universe, a new city, a new store. All Giles needs now is a new employee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ Journal of Rupert Giles _

_May 31, 2001_

_We've been in this dimension for just over one week, and I think Dawn is finally starting to work through the shock of it. For that matter, I think I am as well. It's been difficult, but it could have been much, much worse. The money in my wallet is a close enough match to the currency here that we're not going to starve any time soon. Luckier still that I had emptied the till and the safe at the Magic Box just prior to our aborted run from Glory. I never got around to putting the cash back, so we're in fairly good shape for the next month or so. After that, I'll have to get creative._

_No. Strike that. I'll have to get creative now if I'm to have any hope of providing for us in the long term. _

_I still can't adjust to the reality that Sunnydale is as closed off to us as a trip to the moon. I haven't had the heart to talk to Dawn about it yet, but I'm fairly certain we won't be able to find a way home. The portal that opened with her blood must have closed once we fell through it. I have to believe that, else I'll go insane with worry over the children back home._

_Each night, I replay the fight, and each night, I think of a way that could have gotten Dawn off the tower before the demon — Dawn called him Doc — started cutting her. If I'm not obsessing over that, I'm obsessing over Buffy's still body as it lay at the foot of the tower. If only I'd taken the time to see if she had a pulse. I couldn't, though. There was no time left, and I absolutely had to get to the top of the tower to save Dawn. _

_Perhaps if I tell myself that enough times, I'll start to believe it._

*****

September 13, 2004

"Dad!" The excited squeal that announced Dawn's arrival also made two of my patrons wince in pain. It was unfortunate that the upper ranges of her voice outed lycanthropes so easily, but I wasn't about to ask her to try to modulate the tone. Her voice was a defensive weapon, as far as I was concerned. Though this world is, in many ways, less dangerous than the world from whence we came, such dangers that do exist are, in many ways, far worse.

I excused myself to Abigail St. Clair, one of my favorite customers, and turned to Dawn with a smile. In all the ways that counted and for better or for worse, she was my daughter for now and always. Shortly after we fell through Glory's portal, I had a long talk with her about what had happened, and what needed to happen. The first and most important task was to ensure that we not get separated. I told her that becoming father and daughter would solve that problem, but she had to play her part as well. She would have to start calling me Dad — or Father, if she preferred not to intrude on whatever place Hank Summers held in her heart. It took a disturbingly short period of time for her to start calling me Dad, and the way she said it made it sound as if she'd been calling me that all her life. If we ever do manage to find our way home, I think I'll take the time to find Hank and introduce him to Ripper. No man should ever do to his child what he did to his daughters.

"Hello, pet. Why are you trying to frighten the customers away?"

She snorted, "As if," before dropping her backpack behind the counter. "Guess who asked me out for Friday night!" God, she had a lovely smile. It was enough to make all the boys come sniffing around her, and that was enough to make Ripper want to come out and play. I remember someone — Ethan? — telling me once that there was no one more protective of a young girl's virtue than an old reprobate.

"Presumably it's the same young man you're going to bring to dinner on Thursday night so that I have a chance to meet him," I answered in a reasonably calm tone of voice.

She scowled at me and said, "I told him Wednesday at seven. Thursday night is dance class."

"Oh! So it is," I said. I knew perfectly well that Thursday was out, but I wanted to find out if Dawn was serious about the boy or not. That she'd already made arrangements for the pre-date dinner with the family spoke well of her hopes for a relationship with him. Perhaps I would threaten only to maim, not kill, if he hurt her in any conceivable way.

She stuck her tongue out at me before pulling the day's receipts to compare them against our inventory. Dawn had a good head for business, and there were days when I thought I could detect Anya's influence on her. If so, I was glad. Owning a business was a fine way to make one's way in the world. If she maintained her interest in retail after she finished university, I would offer her a half-share in the shop. Or perhaps I would offer the shop itself. I had nothing against retail, but I longed to get back to research. I was starting to gain a good reputation in certain circles for translation services, and the income from that sideline was nearly enough to support just myself. The idea of getting out of retail entirely once Dawn was out of school was alluring.

Lost in pleasant thoughts, I didn't immediately notice the person who came in a short while after Dawn. It wasn't until my skin started to crawl that I looked up. Lord, but the woman had magic. It was enough to make my other customers — the ones who might have spent money here — put down whatever they'd been looking at and leave. Or maybe it was just her identity that made them run. When Dawn started to look uneasy, I gestured that she should go up to the apartment. She snagged her backpack and gave me one last unhappy look before disappearing into the back.

After Dawn left, I cleared my throat and said, "May I help you?" I kept my voice as innocuous and bland as possible. Her temper was legendary, and I had no desire to prove or provoke it.

She turned slowly, allowing her glance to linger on the merchandise. When she faced me, she said, "Rupert Giles?"

Bloody hell. I doubted anything shown on my face, but inside I was cringing and making plans for a midnight escape to somewhere far from St. Louis. For three and a half years, I'd been hounding Dawn about the necessity of keeping a low profile, and now the human servant of the master of the city was in my shop — asking for me by name. I wondered which god had decided to play dice with my life this week.

"Yes. May I help you?" I stammered out the greeting. It was perhaps slightly worse than usual as the result of her presence. I could probably eliminate it with the help of a speech therapist, but it served a purpose. People generally underestimated me once they heard me speak, thinking the stammer indicated a lack of confidence and strength. I doubted it would work this time, but there was still hope to be had.

She held out her hand — something to do with business, then, not the law — and said, "Anita Blake."

I shook her hand and said, "Ms. Blake," then waited for her to explain herself. I'd already asked twice, and I had no intention of asking a third time.

We stared at each other for long enough that I began to wonder if we'd still be there in the morning when Dawn came down for school. I might have taken pride in the fact that she broke first, but this particular patience evolved as a result of the attentions I received from Angelus some years earlier. Since I learned it under his tutelage, I had no desire to celebrate it when it turned out to be useful. Petty? Perhaps. But I get that way about torturers.

"You have a reputation in town," she said.

All in all, it wasn't a bad opening gambit. If I hadn't spent so much time with the authorities, first in my youth and later as Buffy's Watcher, I might have asked what she was talking about. Instead, I raised my eyebrows to express polite interest and said, "Really?"

She looked at me for another long moment, then must have found whatever she was looking for, as she elected not to continue the pissing match. I was profoundly grateful. "The lycanthropes in town like you. They say you don't discriminate. Ever."

Blast. My low profile was shot to hell and gone by my insistence on treating everyone the same — with civil good humor. Had I realized my behavior was such a rarity, I would have made more of an effort to modify it. No use in crying over spilt milk. The damage was done, and any attempt to rectify the situation would only make it worse.

"I've never found discrimination to be good for business, Ms. Blake," I answered. The stammer hadn't eased up as yet. Given that I was getting more and more tense by the minute, it was hardly a surprise.

"You really are a peach, aren't you?" The hostility was there after all, just below the surface. Since I knew for a fact I'd done nothing to engender it, I ignored her attempts to bait me. I simply kept the same gentle half-smile on my face and waited.

"Not going to answer me?" God, no.

"It was a rhetorical question. I didn't see any need to answer," I said. Personally, I thought I sounded quite reasonable. Especially since my temper was starting to rise a bit. I didn't ask her to come to my shop. She came here of her own volition, but she was acting as if it was all my fault, somehow — that I was the one putting her out.

Inexplicably, she backed down. And I still didn't know what she was doing here. I didn't think pushing her to answer that question would do any good, so I kept quiet. She would get around to explaining herself eventually. I just hoped it would be at some point in time before Dawn graduated from university.

"I heard you're looking for part-time help during the day," she said. I allowed myself to show puzzlement, but nothing more. My mind was racing through the possibilities. She was here for a job? No. It was an absurd notion brought on by the stress of her presence in my shop. Aside from her obligations to the master of the city, she was an animator and a federal marshal. She was also intimately involved with at least two groups of lycanthropes. She already had too much on her plate, which meant that she was asking on someone else's behalf.

"Yes, I am," I said. I didn't volunteer the fact that I needed the help because my daughter was back in school. If she'd gone to the trouble of finding out I needed an employee, I had no doubt she'd gone to the trouble of finding out why I needed an employee.

"A friend of mine needs a job. He doesn't have much by way of — traditional skills, but he's a fast learner and pretty good with people," she said. I wondered if her friend was wolf or cat — her comment about lycanthropes was the tip off — but I was more curious about why she hesitated over the word "traditional".

"Is there a reason he can't come in to apply for himself?" It was a good question, and if she had any hopes at all of her friend being employed here, she would answer it. Whether she wanted to or not.

"Nathaniel is —" It didn't show on her face, but it was clear she was having a long and fairly drawn out argument with herself over what and how much to tell me. I'm still not sure why, but I took pity on her.

"A lycanthrope?" At her look of surprise and narrow-eyed assessment, I added, "Hardly a difficult thing to determine, given the way you started the conversation. I suspect, however, that if lycanthropy were the only issue, you wouldn't be here. Am I correct?"

"You are," she said, all business, all at once. "Nathaniel is completely submissive. I've been working with him to help him become more independent, but he needs to get out in the real world. In a store like this, with an understanding employer, he might learn enough to be able to take care of himself one day."

I wanted very much to say no to her, but that required a valid reason. I didn't have one, because I'd already made it known I was willing to train someone. The fact was I wanted nothing to do with her or her friends. To become involved even peripherally with The Executioner was to stray into circles that garnered far too much of the wrong kind of attention. I'd paid well for our paper trail and history in this world, and I continued to do whatever I could to strengthen our back stories even further. But a determined investigator or government agency would be able to find more holes than I could ever hope to fill. My lectures to Dawn about keeping a low profile all stemmed from a nightmare of interrogation about how, precisely, we came to be in this world.

To put it crudely, she had me by the short hairs.

"Very well. Dinner is at seven. Bring him around this evening, and we can talk while we eat. There's an outside entrance to the apartment through the alley in back," I told her. I watched the subtle play of emotion on Ms. Blake's face. She didn't want to accept the invitation. However, if she was serious about her Nathaniel working here, she would have to accede to my wishes with regard to the manner of the interview. It would be an uncomfortable meal if she didn't rein in her power, but Dawn and I had survived worse.


	2. Chapter 2

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_June 14, 2001_

_When Dawn came back from the beach this afternoon, she was visibly shaken. She handed me the local newspaper, and the front page headline declared that a murderous witch would be put to death later that night. I read through the story to get as much information as I could. Despite the fact that the article had no doubt been watered down for family consumption, there was enough information to horrify Dawn and me both. _

_From the first day here, I've felt my own magic responding strongly to the magic in this world, and I've been doing what I could to keep it under control. Still, I've experienced a few slips. It is now clear that I need to become very serious about controlling my magic. Whilst I've done nothing horrendous in the grand scheme of things, if I'd made that kind of mistake during one of my more questionable activities and been caught, I could have been tried and convicted of using magic in the commission of a felony. _

_I will pay a visit to Santa Barbara's public library as soon as it opens in the morning. I'm not averse to breaking a few laws to get Dawn and me into a more stable situation, but I would rather know** which **laws I'm breaking. Fortunately, the cons Ethan and I ran in our London days can be done with or without the use of magic._

_Good lord. I just implied gratitude in conjunction with Ethan Rayne. Perhaps the world ended after all, and we simply haven't realized it yet._

*****

September 13, 2004

As soon as Ms. Blake left, I rang Dawn in the apartment and told her to come back down. I heard the relief in her voice that the woman was gone and felt badly that I was about to burst her bubble. It couldn't be helped.

Dawn all but ran into the shop, and for a moment, I was reminded of when she was twelve years old and just starting to be all legs and elbows. I'd been at Buffy's house one night to drop off a book — I believe it was just before the band candy incident — and Dawn had careened around the corner without so much as a pause to look where she was going. Small though she was at the time, she was capable of a tackle a rugby player would be proud to call her own. Buffy kept the two of us from going down in a tangle, but it had been a near thing.

I looked at her now, a slight smile playing on my face, and I thought that not much had changed in the intervening years. Certainly, she had gained a great deal of poise and grace with her increasing years, but when she was excited or under stress, she still tended to resort to the behaviors of childhood.

"What was she doing here? Do we have to move? Oh god. If we move, where will we go? Will we have to change names —"

"Dawn," I said, interrupting her flow of babble even as I stood to gather her into my arms. I honestly hadn't thought she would understand the ramifications of Ms. Blake's visit, but she had. I suppose all parents go through this particular shock. It isn't easy to realize your child has turned into an adult underneath your very nose. The fact that Dawn was reacting with the urge to determine next steps meant that she had been thinking about our precarious situation in this world. She was not, as I had thought, taking it for granted that we were safe. I couldn't have been more proud of her.

In a small voice, she barely spoke above a whisper, asking, "What's going to happen, Daddy?" I gave her an extra squeeze. Adult, yes, but still very much uncertain at times, especially now with Ms. Blake turning her attention to us.

I dropped a kiss on her forehead and said, "You're going down to Straithern's Market to buy four strip steaks. We have company coming for dinner tonight."

I could feel her shock in the utterly still way she held herself. And then, because she was Dawn Summers Giles, sister to Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, she stepped back and swatted me on the arm. "What? What are you talking about? We should be packing up and leaving, and you're worried about a dinner party? Are you completely insane?"

I felt a small bubble of hysterical laughter trying to escape, but I pushed it back. She already thought I was losing my mind, and I didn't need to add fuel to the fire. "The situation isn't so terrible as all that. Ms. Blake is bringing a friend of hers around tonight for dinner, so that you and I can meet him," I told her, even as I blocked another attempt to hit me.

Dawn wasn't serious about attacking me. If she had been, I would have been on the floor before I knew what was happening. She wasn't as fast or strong as Buffy, but she didn't telegraph her moves the way Buffy tended to. As a result, she did quite well for herself.

Shortly after we arrived in this universe, I began training Dawn in much the same fashion I had started training her sister years earlier. I modified very few of the techniques, as they were generally useful no matter what a person's strength. I'd also gone to some trouble teaching Dawn the methods of street fighting. These were moves I hadn't dared teach Buffy for a number of years. Initially, I held back because the Council would have been incensed had I strayed from the approved teachings. Pillocks. Later, after she quit the Council, Buffy was too caught up in her first year of university and had no time for me. It wasn't until after her run-in with Dracula that I was finally able to round out her education in fighting forms.

"You invited her to dinner?" Her confusion and outrage were clear on her face, especially in light of all the conversations she and I had about blending into society. "And she's bringing a —" She stopped suddenly, and I saw horror creep into her expression before she charged down the wrong track and demanded to know, "Are you trying to set me up on a blind date?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it, but there it was. And there it continued to be. I couldn't stop giggling for the longest time, partly from anxiety and partly because Dawn had gone off on a new rant about how she met a really nice boy who wasn't supernatural, and here I was trying to set her up with a friend of The Executioner. And was I drunk, because she thought we agreed I wouldn't drink during the day. It was that last statement that finally dampened my hysteria.

"No, Dawn. I'm not drunk. And Ms. Blake is bringing her friend for a job interview," I said, watching for her reaction to that particular bit of news.

She reacted as well as I had — not very. "You can't be serious," she said, looking as if she were about to commit me for my own safety.

"I'm afraid I am. It's my own fault for behaving politely to the lycanthropes in town," I told her, with no small amount of rue in my voice. I hadn't yet moved past the fact that we were trapped because of the good manners my mother had drilled into me as a boy.

"Then be rude!" She wasn't yet shrill, but she had moved into strident.

"No. It's too late to fix the problem, and any change would only bring suspicion down on us," I said as I looked into her eyes, willing her to understand. "I'm no happier about this turn of events than you are, but we're well and truly stuck. With any luck, he'll be so completely unsuitable that it will be clear to him and her both that he shouldn't work here."

She raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Luck?" The word was drenched with meaning.

I gave a small shrug before saying, "You never know."

She sighed, then held out her hand. "If I need to get the meat, I'd better go now. Need anything else?"

I pulled out my wallet and gave her enough cash to cover the cost of the food. "No. Abigail brought the last of her zucchini when she came in earlier. I'll serve that along with dirty rice. You might want to pick up ice cream, though. I'm not sure we have enough to serve four," I told her. I wondered if I sounded as defeated as I felt. I hoped not. I wanted Dawn to approach tonight's dinner with more confidence than dread. The only way for that to happen was for her to believe I was on top of things.

After she left, I mulled over the absurdity of discussing what to serve for dinner that evening. It had taken a year of running moderately risky cons to build up enough capital both for high-quality identities and for the chance to start a life somewhere other than California. Now all of that time, money and effort was at risk, just because Ms. Blake had decided to grace my store with a visit and a request.

When we first arrived in this world, it had been a huge shock to find out that vampires had legal rights in this country. If I'd had the paperwork and money, I would have moved Dawn and me to a country that wasn't quite so liberal in its thinking. Since a move was out of the question at the time, I studied the vampires in this universe, with the thought of ensuring that we would be able to protect ourselves with knowledge. In the process, I found that they were completely different from the demons that we'd known before. Though they weren't as dangerous, they were still vampires and still a concern.

That's an understatement. The idea of vampires with civil rights was enough to generate nightmares, so Dawn and I thought long and hard about where to go when we were ready to leave the West Coast. In the end, we chose St. Louis, both for the educational opportunities and, ironically enough, because of Ms. Blake's presence in the city. In a country where it was illegal to stake a vampire on general principle alone, Ms. Blake's job title and reputation were comfortingly similar to Buffy's. We both thought we would feel safer in a town where such a woman held a prominent position. We remained in blissful ignorance of the true situation for all of six months after arriving in St. Louis.

I never fully gave up on my study of the vampire population, even after our move here. There were any number of books on the subject, but most were written with an eye to generating sales rather than passing on useful information. One night, perhaps four or five months after arriving in St. Louis, I was reading Torrelli's History of Human-Vampire Relations when a phrase caught my eye — human servant. It took a bit more digging, but eventually, I was able to gain a reasonable understanding of the term.

Not long after that, I heard the first whispers that Ms. Blake was, in fact, the human servant of the master of the city. I felt sick to my stomach at the idea, but I forced myself to get over it. I told myself that unlike Buffy, Ms. Blake did not have a sacred obligation to kill vampires. In point of fact, her personal relationships were none of my business.

I chose to say nothing to Dawn about it, but it didn't take long for her to hear the same rumors. When she confronted me with them, she asked what it was with Slayers and Executioners and vampire nookie. I wanted very much to answer her question, but I couldn't. I was still trying to understand it myself. We had a long talk that night about what to do, and we found that we were both unwilling to move. Dawn didn't want to leave, because she was making new friends at school and was settling nicely into the rhythm of the city. I was reluctant, because I didn't want to go to the trouble and danger of rebuilding all the capital I'd sunk into the shop.

I was also reluctant because the shop had done surprisingly well almost from the first day. St. Louis suffered an unexpected paucity of occult book shops that catered to middle-class practitioners. There were any number of shops that catered to the tourist trade down near the Circus of the Damned, and there were several book stores that sold to a wealthier clientele. But there were few that looked to the middle-of-the-road customer.

From the beginning, the Watcher's Nook strove to provide informative books and good-quality supplies at reasonable prices. I had no desire to sell the cheap imports so many tourists seemed to like, and I had even less interest in trying to break into the rare book trade. The middle-class, however, provided the ideal clientele. These were customers who knew what they wanted and what they were willing to pay to get it.

Be that as it may, I believe the other reason we've done so well is that the shop looks like an ordinary, well-lit book store. The aisles are reasonably wide, and I've dotted armchairs throughout the space. There's a selection of Wiccan supplies, and I'm thinking of adding a coffee bar, even though Dawn is adamantly opposed to the idea. I refused from the start to decorate the shop with tacky cliches, and the result has been happy and relaxed customers willing to spend money here.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I decided once again that I wouldn't let Ms. Blake frighten us into pulling up stakes and leaving. Dawn and I had even more invested in St. Louis than we did two and a half years ago. We had taken root too deeply to run off and hide, just because our plan to blend into the woodwork had hit a bit of a snag.

Though I was still hopeful that Nathaniel wouldn't be suitable, I began to resign myself to the fact that there was every chance he would be my newest employee. If so, I would no doubt have to accept further contact with Ms. Blake. She'd made it clear that the boy was under her protection. The only comfort I had was that she didn't seem to like me any more than I liked her. Perhaps that mutual dislike would keep her away from me and mine. And perhaps a portal to Sunnydale would open up as soon as Dawn came back from Straithern's.

Ridiculous.

Nonetheless, when Dawn finally did return from shopping, I was adrift in a pleasant fantasy of Ms. Blake calling to say she was canceling the interview and promising never to come back to the store again. I took myself out of the daydream with a great deal of reluctance and left Dawn in charge of the register. I went upstairs to start preparing the meal.


	3. Chapter 3

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_June 16, 2001_

_I’ve just had another drawn-out argument with Dawn over the matter of protection. I believe she wants me to promise that I’ll always protect her from evil, but I cannot give her that assurance. Nor will I allow her to glue herself to my side out of some misguided effort to make her feel better. I hate the idea of having to disillusion her when she’s not yet fifteen, but if I don’t manage it soon, life will take care of it for me. I **won’t** always be at her side. I **won’t** always be able to protect her from the things that lurk in the dark. I **won’t** always be able to provide an anchor for her. How do I make her understand? _

_She refuses to learn even the most basic protection spells, even though I’ve told her in the strongest language possible that she won’t be safe without them. Now that my magic is growing stronger by the day, I can feel the mystical energy of the Key, despite the fact that it’s in human form. If I can sense it, then so too can others. It’s only a matter of time before someone attempts to make use of it. But she won’t listen. _

_Nor will she listen to me on the matter of physical protection. I want to train her the same way I trained Buffy, but Dawn will have none of it. If she were an ostrich, she’d be sticking her head in the sand. _

_Perhaps she’s suffering guilt — it would explain her apparent death wish. _

_I wish Joyce were here. Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t be in this predicament if she were, she might be able to provide some insight as to her younger daughter’s behavior. I was trained to deal with Slayers, not typical teenage girls. I can’t use the same arguments with Dawn that I used to get Buffy to accept reality. I’ll have to figure out something soon._

*****

September 13, 2004

Dawn closed the store at six o’clock and came upstairs to finish what little homework she had. She seemed to be doing well her first semester at university, but it was early days yet. And with a possible new boyfriend on the horizon, there was the potential for all sorts of difficulties to play themselves out. I hadn’t forgotten Buffy’s freshman year, and I shuddered at the thought of some boy taking advantage as that Parker had.

Dawn and I were in the kitchen preparing the food when the doorbell rang. I looked at the clock and saw that it was seven o’clock sharp. I wondered if they’d stood out there waiting, or if her timing was just that impeccable. I put my hand up to slow Dawn down, and she nodded as she carelessly leaned against the doorway to the living room. She really had perfected the art of the slouch. I was impressed.

I opened the door to our guests and said, “Ms. Blake. Nathaniel, is it?” I stepped away from the entrance, opening the door wide as I did so. Out of a lifetime of habit, I offered no spoken invitation, but I did lift my eyebrows a bit when neither of them stepped across the threshold.

The stalemate was broken when Ms. Blake gave Nathaniel a small push inward. He didn’t stumble at all, and I wondered if his grace might be due to his lycanthropy. I saw that he was wearing black slacks and a bright green silk shirt — neither too casual nor too dressy. His hair was auburn and twisted in a braid that fell to the floor. Unlike other first-time visitors, he didn’t look around the apartment. Rather, he turned so he could watch Ms. Blake — the same Ms. Blake who was still standing at the top of the stairs outside my home. She was glowering at the door frame, and I suspected the problem was the warding I’d placed on the doorway. Actually, there were wards on every single potential entrance to my home, including all the windows, the water and sewer drains and the vent above the stove. Have I mentioned that I really don’t trust anything in this world aside from my daughter?

Ms. Blake turned a scowl on me, and I just stood there with, I hoped, a mildly puzzled look on my face. The truth was that my inner Ethan was jumping up and down a bit, chanting in a sing-song, _Ripper made you blink, Ripper made you blink!_ I began to wonder if perhaps some of this _was_ showing on my face, because if anything, she looked even angrier than she had.

No matter. I wasn’t about to remove the warding. It specifically prevented anyone and anything with the intent to cause harm from entering. If she couldn’t cross the threshold, the interview was over. With one last glare, she lifted her right foot — and stepped in. _Damn,_ I thought to myself, even as I held out my hand to her. “Welcome to my home, Ms. Blake. May I offer you something to drink?”

She looked as if she wanted to demand my blood, but all she said was, “I’ll have a Coke.”

I turned to Nathaniel and said, “What would you like to drink?”

“He’ll have a Coke, too,” she said.

I turned to her and raised my eyebrows before saying, “If Nathaniel is to work for me, I believe it will be difficult, if not impossible, for you to be at the store for the duration of his shifts, simply so you can answer for him. Perhaps it would be better if he learned how to answer for himself.”

I think I actually heard her teeth grinding.

A look passed between her and Nathaniel, and he said quietly, without looking me in the eye, “I would like a Coke, too, Mr. Giles.”

“Lovely,” I said. “Dawn?”

“On it,” she answered, even as she sauntered down the hallway to get the drinks.

This truly was turning out to be a memorable evening, and I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of eating dinner on the roof, as I had planned. If Ms. Blake and I didn’t start pulling our punches, one or the other of us would be tossed over the side of the building before the night was through. At this point, I honestly couldn’t say which of us I hoped would land on the concrete.

Dawn returned with the drinks, and I said, “Ms. Blake, Nathaniel, allow me to introduce my daughter, Dawn.”

She gave a quick smile and a small wave, saying, “Hi.”

Nathaniel gave her a smile to match before looking down again. After a very long moment, Ms. Blake said, “Hi.”

Had I ever felt more awkward? Well, yes. Any number of times. But not since leaving Sunnydale. I didn’t know what it was about the woman that set my teeth on edge. I thought her magic might have something to do with it, but I wondered if the bigger issue was her relationship with the master of the city. Certainly, I’d not lost my prejudice against vampires. It was one of the reasons the store didn’t stay open past sunset — I didn’t want them as customers. But if that explained my reaction, it didn’t explain hers. I was certain she was experiencing the same level of irritation I was, but I couldn’t pin down the cause of it.

“Well,” said Dawn in a fake, chipper voice. “This is just loads of fun. Hey, Nate, you like Grand Theft Auto? I’ve got a Playstation 2.”

He jerked a little, startled at her abbreviation of his name, but he nodded and said softly, “Yeah. I like it.”

“Cool. Let’s go kill some stuff,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the living room.

I shook my head, but called out, “Nathaniel, how do you like your steak?”

He paused, looked at Ms. Blake before looking at my chin and saying, “Rare, please.” He turned, then, to follow Dawn.

I turned to Ms. Blake, but before I could speak, she asked, “Are we going to kill each other before the night is done?”

The question was uncomfortably similar to my earlier thoughts. I paused for a moment before answering, “Anything is possible, Ms. Blake, but not all things are likely.” Good lord. I sounded like a fortune cookie. In an attempt to get back to normal speech patterns, I said, “If you’ll come with me, please?” I didn’t want to wait, but just walking off and expecting her to follow would have been unconscionably rude. And incredibly dangerous — she was armed.

When she nodded in agreement, I headed down the hall to the kitchen. Oddly, I didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought I would with her just behind me. Either I didn’t believe she would shoot without provocation or I was at the point where I didn’t care what happened to me. No — that wasn’t right. I cared about what happened to me, so on some level, I trusted her to give warning if she thought she needed to kill me. It was a strangely comforting thought.

In the kitchen, I checked on the rice and zucchini before I poured a glass of Merlot for myself and pulled the steaks out of the refrigerator. With my glass in one hand and the dish of meat in the other, I said, “The stairs lead to the rooftop.” She took the hint and went before me, making sure the trapdoor stayed open so I could get through.

I started the gas grill and put the meat on before going back to the trapdoor to shut it. A door left open for too long could be construed as an invitation by any number of things. Ms. Blake, meanwhile, was taking in my garden. I hadn’t been able to maintain one in Sunnydale, for obvious reasons, but here in St. Louis, I chose not to let a flat roof go to waste. I didn’t have trees up here, though I dearly wanted some, but I did have all manner of flowering bush. I also had several flower boxes, and I had planted them to ensure blooming flowers throughout most of the growing season. Scattered between the bushes and flower boxes were oversized flower pots, and these were planted with annuals. Even in September, the garden was still lovely, and the fragrance from the blooms was enough to overwhelm one, especially on hot, humid nights such as this, when there was no wind to blow the scent away.

I was intrigued by Ms. Blake’s behavior now that she was up here. The garden seemed to have soothed her, somewhat. And because she was no longer so edgy, I was finally able to relax a bit. I leaned against one of the safety rails and sipped my wine, losing myself for a moment in the beauty of the early evening. It would have been perfect up there but for the smell of exhaust cutting through the heady scent of the garden and the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Herron having their nightly fight. One couldn’t have everything.

“I saw the plants from the street, but I didn’t realize what you had up here,” she said as she came back from her tour. Unlike me, she seemed to be able to ignore the intrusions of the city.

“Most people are surprised when they come up here for the first time,” I answered, maintaining the same polite tone she just set. Frankly, I was happy to have something neutral to chat about while dinner cooked. I hadn’t been all that pleased when Dawn absconded with Nathaniel. On the other hand, she had a way about her. I had no doubt she would be able to get to know him better in a few short minutes of video game play than I would if I had an entire week to devote to him. Meanwhile, Ms. Blake asked about the various plants and why I chose them, and I was pleased to answer. I never got very far with Dawn in discussions about the garden. She just couldn’t understand the appeal of digging in the dirt to help things grow. I wasn’t convinced that Ms. Blake was all that interested either, so I kept my enthusiasm down to a dull roar.

Our conversation continued until I went back to the trapdoor and opened it to call Dawn and Nathaniel up for the meal. I didn’t comment about our unspoken truce. The fact that it existed at all meant that we had a chance at having a meal where people ate instead of pushing their food around.

When the two arrived, bearing the rest of the food, I was happy to see that Dawn hadn’t taken advantage by making him carry everything. We sat down to a fairly relaxed meal in the glow of citronella candles. Dawn, who’s capable of chatting up anyone with ears, kept up a running patter about her first week at university and amused me, at least, with her imitations of her professors. I may have seen a smile attempt to break through on Ms. Blake’s face once or twice, but that could have been a trick of the dying light.

About halfway through dinner, I decided that Nathaniel had relaxed sufficiently to answer a few questions. I waited until he paused in his eating, and I said, “Why do you want to work for me, Nathaniel?”

There was the same look to Ms. Blake, but she had learned her lesson quite well. She clamped her lips shut and looked down at her plate. After a long moment, he finally looked at my chin and said, “I just want a normal job. I’ve never had one before.” It had the sound of a rehearsed speech. If he was as submissive as Ms. Blake suggested, and I believed he was, then it was quite likely that he _had_ rehearsed that particular answer.

I tried another question, “How do you think you would handle a difficult customer?” I didn’t look at her, but I could tell Ms. Blake had become a bit restive, and it was obvious she didn’t like the question. Too bad. She wasn’t the one who would be stuck with an employee who couldn’t cope with a fairly common problem. Nathaniel, meanwhile, seemed to be mulling over his answer.

I was prepared to wait for as long as necessary, so I was a bit surprised when he answered more quickly than I thought he would. “A difficult customer is like a top, I think,” he said. “All I would have to do is wait them out.”

“Yes, but a top knows when to back off, Nathaniel. A difficult customer won’t leave you alone until they’ve drawn real or metaphorical blood,” I answered. I knew Dawn was surprised by my candor, but she would be eighteen in less than two weeks, and it was time to start treating her as the adult she’d become. That meant not censoring myself when it came to problematic topics. As for Ms. Blake, she’d given me a sharp look as soon as I explained the difference between a top and a customer. I stopped myself from sighing at the thought that everyone under the age of thirty seemed to be convinced that I was a sexless old man.

And as for Nathaniel, he looked thoughtful and said, “So that means I have to enforce my limit, because the customer won’t, right?”

I smiled at him and answered, “Precisely. Are you capable of doing that?”

“What kind of question is that?” Ms. Blake managed to remain quiet for two more questions than I thought she would.

I started to answer, but Nathaniel, surprisingly, beat me to it. “It’s an honest question, Anita,” he said softly. I could see the effort it had taken him to respond to her, and I was impressed. If he’d just been told to apply for a job, I doubt he would have said anything. That he had — well, I took it to mean that he was serious about wanting to work for me.

I started to speak once more, but again, I was interrupted. This time, it was Ms. Blake. She looked at him and said, “Nathaniel?” I think she was even more surprised than me at his willingness to speak up. I’m not sure what went on in their wordless exchange, but whatever it was seemed to have satisfied her to some extent. She sat back in her chair.

Nathaniel took a sip of his Coke before turning his gaze back to my chin — was it a dominance issue? — and said, “I don’t always stop people when I hit my limit, but I’m learning.”

I looked at him, allowing the silence to stretch out for a bit, and was about to answer him when the attack came. It took all of us by surprise when Ms. Blake’s cross flared brightly in the deepening twilight. I swore, then told Nathaniel and Dawn to get inside immediately. Ms. Blake was doubled over and unable to move. Rather than attempt to get her to walk, I took the simpler course of carrying her inside. When I reached the bottom of the steps, Dawn ran up and closed the trapdoor. I watched as all the wards around the apartment flared brightly in response to the assault.

Still in my arms, Ms. Blake stirred restlessly before opening her eyes and saying flatly, “Put me down.”

I sighed. So much for the truce.


	4. Chapter 4

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_December 24, 2002_

_The Christmas Eve service at St. Anne’s was lovely. I just wish Dawn and I had been able to approach it with more enthusiasm. Since finding out that a cross won’t work against vampires unless the wielder has faith in the god it represents, we’ve both been attempting to accept the tenets of Christianity. We’ve met with any number of priests, pastors and preachers, but none have been able to get us past what we know to be true through firsthand experience. Were I a younger man, I might be able to develop sufficient belief to wield a cross against a vampire, but I’m not. And Dawn? She knows perfectly well that a group of monks were responsible for her current incarnation. As for her previous existence, we both of us doubt that the Christian god had anything to do with it._

_It’s a frustrating situation, knowing there’s a deterrent at hand but being unable to use it. Dawn and I will simply have to make due with what we’ve been doing so far — adapting Wiccan practices and spells as needed to provide protection. She’s come far enough along that she’s able to control her own shielding much of the time. I still provide a certain amount on her behalf, just to ensure she’s not broadcasting her mystical aspect, but she’s handling it herself more and more on a daily basis. Because of that, I’ve been able to concentrate on developing warding for our home and business. _

_I’ve very nearly finished writing all the necessary spells, and when I’m done, the entire building, from Watcher’s Nook on up to our apartment, will be protected from magical harm. I think, though, that I’ll take tomorrow and the next day off and finish the spells after Boxing Day. Pagan though we are, neither Dawn nor I have any intention of giving up Christmas and its traditions._

*****

September 13, 2004

I looked at the — woman — in my arms when she told me to put her down, and I very nearly dropped her on her skinny little arse just to teach her a lesson in polite behavior. To say I was unhappy with her attitude at the moment was to say that I was a bit miffed when Angelus killed my lover. I glared at her before carrying her to the living room to drop her on the sofa unceremoniously. I wasn’t entirely certain she could stand, and I had no desire to catch her if necessary.

“Dawn, check the kitchen. I’ll take a look in the bathroom,” I said, ignoring Ms. Blake’s threats of dire retribution. I had no doubt she would carry them out if she chose to, but I really didn’t give a damn at that point. I mean, really. Did she expect me to leave her up there alone? Buffy occasionally stretched pride just short of suicide, but she backed off once she saw where the danger lay. Ms. Blake seemed not only to know where the danger lay, but also how to poke and prod at it to get it to wake up and bite — and she didn’t seem to care one whit.

I saw that the drain in the bathtub, the tub’s overflow drain, the tub faucet, the shower head, the toilet, the sink faucet, the sink drain and the sink’s overflow drain were all glowing like mad. So too were the electrical outlets and the heating and cooling vents. I looked forward to pointing this out to Dawn. She’d been merciless in her teasing when she saw the extent to which I went to place the wards around every possible avenue of ingress. Given that we didn’t need to use any lamps at the moment, I thought she might be willing to see things my way.

We met in the hall, and all I had to do was raise an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and said, “Fine. You were right. I was wrong. Happy?”

“Immeasurably. I think I shall go and make a note of it in my journal this very moment,” I said dryly, before going into my bedroom to check the remaining wards. Dawn did the same for her room, and we both met in the guest bedroom. The entire apartment was lit up by the wards responding to the attack, and I was rather amazed. I’d been certain they would perform as expected, but this went beyond my most hopeful imaginings. That they were glowing so brightly meant they were absorbing and making use of more and more of the energy being thrown at them.

Dawn and I went back to the living room, where we found Nathaniel tending to Ms. Blake’s needs. She looked dreadfully pale and rather furious — with me, no doubt. “How are you feeling, Ms. Blake?”

“What the hell was that?” Lovely. She was blaming me for tonight’s misadventure.

“I have no idea,” I answered. I resisted the urge to whip off my glasses and start cleaning them. For one thing, I didn’t want to give Ms. Blake the idea that I had something to hide. For another, Dawn had decided to break me of that particular tic by snatching away my glasses whenever I took them off during a conversation. It was annoying, to say the least.

She asked in a harsh voice, “Well, who have you pissed off lately?”

“Only you, but I can’t imagine you’re so suicidal as to have started an attack which injured _only_ yourself and didn’t touch the rest of us,” I answered, wondering if she would take the hint.

She didn’t.

“You’re not blaming me for this,” she said, her eyes taking on a flinty, cold, dead look.

“Oh, of course I’m not blaming you! We get attacked on a regular basis — it happens every time the Pope renounces Christ and the Mississippi River flows northward,” I said in a cheerful, sarcastic tone. What _was_ it about her that brought out the very worst in me?

My anger and fear quickly got the upper hand, though, and I snapped, “Of _course_ I’m blaming you, Ms. Blake. Why wouldn’t I? We’ve been living here for two and a half years, and this is the first time _any_ of my wards have been activated!”

She looked at me, her mouth hanging open slightly, and said, “You have this much magical protection when you’ve never even been attacked?”

Oops.

“I’m paranoid,” I said in a flat voice. I hoped it would discourage her from asking further questions.

“No. Paranoid is walking around armed to the teeth and shooting anything that moves. You have enough wards around this place to fend off an army of demons. You’re so far past paranoid not even _I_ can see you,” she said with her own brand of sarcasm. After a beat, she asked, “Are these going to hold?” She was looking at the glow around all the outlets, windows and other holes in the room. They continued to brighten as the attack intensified. It was then that I noticed both Dawn and Nathaniel had disappeared, probably to a neutral corner. Lucky them.

“They were designed to absorb whatever magic is used in an attack. Excess power is bled off into the secondary and tertiary defenses,” I said as obnoxiously as I could manage. I’d always heard that the best defense is a good offense, though I’d never seen it to be true myself. Buffy used to practice that particular maxim on me on a regular basis, despite the fact that she rarely managed to get me off track. I hoped I would be better at it than she, which meant I had to change the subject and do so while Ms. Blake was too angry to notice.

“Secondary and —”

“I’m a shopkeeper. I have a great deal of money invested in this building, and I have no intention allowing anything to destroy my family’s livelihood. Surely even _you_ can understand that,” I said, making the insult clear.

“You insufferable son of —” Her response was cut short by a thud — several thuds, actually. Something was trying to get in through the trapdoor from the roof and something else was trying to get in through the outside entrance. At least she was bright enough to put away our squabble in favor of seeing to our defense. She drew her weapon and tried to stand, but she collapsed back into the couch. I heard her mutter a series of rather nasty remarks as Dawn and Nathaniel came back in, both with wide eyes at the latest development.

“Dad?” Dawn kept her voice low, and we went over to the weapons chest, where she held out her hand for her daggers. She had enough upper body strength to wield a long sword, but she preferred working with shorter blades. I doubted her preference would survive her first real battle. Despite having seen Buffy try to clean blood and gore out of her clothing, Dawn had no idea just how messy a close-in fight with blades could get. Part of that may have had to do with Buffy’s tendency to stop at my place or the school for a shower before heading home after a particularly bloody fight.

“Nathaniel?” I gestured to the weaponry, and he took a long look before choosing a short sword. I closed the chest and pulled my broadsword off the wall. I looked over at the sofa and saw that Ms. Blake was, against all reason, still trying to stand up.

“Dawn, you and Nathaniel cover the entry way. I’ll worry about the roof,” I said, moving to leave the living room.

“Help me up, dammit!”

I paused to look back at Ms. Blake. “You can’t be serious,” I said, watching as she continued to struggle against gravity and her body’s inability to function. I didn’t know the nature of the attack against her, but I was beginning to suspect she was lucky not merely to be conscious, but simply to be alive.

She sat back with a slight whump and a pout that one might have been tempted to mistake for an expression of pure rage. “Please help me over to the damn stairs. I can still shoot, even if I’m completely useless otherwise,” she said between gritted teeth. It had cost her dearly both to admit to the need for help and to ask for it. And I doubted very much her ability to shoot, even if she didn’t. While she might be used to the kick of the gun, her weakened state made it unlikely that she could compensate.

Still, she had a point. Even a questionable ability was better than nothing. I set the broadsword down and went over to the sofa. Before she could object, I lifted her up much the way a parent would carry a child, and deposited her in the hall next to the stairs. I again ignored her dire — and rather creatively profane — threats. The woman had brought danger to my home, and I planned to extract every little bit of petty vengeance I could before she disappeared from my life. _And please, whichever god may be listening, let this be enough to convince her to take Nathaniel far away from here,_ I thought in a hasty prayer.

When I returned, sword in hand, Ms. Blake had retreated to an icy silence. She’d managed to prop herself against the wall with one knee raised to steady her gun arm. I was impressed by the fact that she didn’t attempt to maintain modesty with her short skirt. I thought it must be a regular enough occurrence that she was inured to the idea of flashing whomever happened to be nearby.

I glanced up, but the glow from the wards was too bright for me to see through the window on the trapdoor. Whatever was trying to get in was dark, but not quite as dark as the evening sky. Whenever it landed against the glass, I was able to get an impression of — stone? Possibly. But why would a gargoyle attack? It made no sense.

I looked at Ms. Blake, my confusion evident on my face, and saw that she was just as confused as I. She looked up nervously and asked, “How long will your door hold up?”

“The glass and wood are being strengthened by the wards. As long as they’re in place, so too will be the physical barriers.” I hoped. The wards were of my own design, a blend of spells I’d learned in Sunnydale and Wiccan magic I’d learned here. The theory behind their development was sound, but as I told Ms. Blake earlier, this was the first time they were being put to the test.

And it was quite a test indeed. Other things were starting to fly at the windows. Since the wards flared up every time it happened, I assumed the creatures were either magical constructs or were being driven by the use of magic. Each broke away with a scream when it hit a window, and the sound was horrible. Happily for us, that particular attack didn’t last very long.

Not long after, all the wards went dark. The attack had ended as abruptly as it had begun and with as little evidence for the reason. I looked at the clock in the kitchen and found that it had taken no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. I found it difficult to comprehend that it wasn’t yet half past eight. It was even harder to believe that I’d met Ms. Blake less than six hours earlier and that I was already recovering from the aftermath of an attack.

Nonetheless, it was over. We were each alive and in one piece, and Ms. Blake seemed to recover fairly quickly once the assault ended. She accepted a hand up and was able to stand on her own after a moment or two. She said, “I have to make a couple of phone calls. You might want to put your weapons away before the cops get here.”

Police? Police! I wanted to demand an answer as to why she thought it was necessary to call them, but I couldn’t. To do so would raise even more questions than I already had with my excessive security precautions. I think some of my consternation must have shown in my expression, because when I looked down at her, she was wearing a smirk. She knew she had me cornered, and she seemed to be quite pleased at the idea.

I pushed back my dismay and said as evenly as possible, “There’s a phone in the living room. I’ll go check on Dawn and Nathaniel.”

When I reached the front entrance, Dawn came up to give me a hug. I dropped a kiss on her head and said, “Everything alright, then?”

Her face was buried in my shirt, so her voice was a bit muffled when she said, “We’re good.”

“Nathaniel?” He looked calmer than I expected. Then I realized this sort of thing must be quite common for him, especially if he was with Ms. Blake for regular periods of time. No matter what she thought, I was convinced that the attack was aimed at her. Granted, I’d done quite a bit of financial damage in California, but I’d chosen my marks as much for their stupidity as for their complete lack of contact with magic. Aside from that, none of them would have been able to afford to hire a sorcerer or sorceress strong enough to launch such an attack. And while Dawn could have been the target, I didn’t think she was. She was too well cloaked these days, and not even sensitives got a twitch when they were near her.

He responded as quietly as ever, saying, “I’m fine, Mr. Giles. Where’s Anita?”

“In the living room. She said she needed to make a couple of phone calls. Since one of them is to the police, I suggest we put away our weapons,” I said. I gave Dawn one last reassuring squeeze before stepping away and going into the living room.

“— witch or warlock. Whoever it was was damn strong,” I heard her say to the person on the other end of the line. “No, we’re fine...This guy has wards up the wazoo. I’ll probably hire him to do my house...Half hour?...Yeah..._Right._ Like I don’t have enough complications in my life already. See ya when you get here.” She hung up without looking around and started dialing again.

Dawn and Nathaniel put their blades away carefully, and I put the broadsword back on the wall. “Dawn,” I said quietly, “why don’t you and Nathaniel get out the ice cream. I think we could do with a bit of comfort food right now.”

When they left, I eavesdropped shamelessly. She ignored me and spoke at a normal volume. “Jason? I told that idiot I wanted Jean-Claude...I don’t give a rat’s ass what he’s doing, get him on the phone...” She was tapping her foot and rummaging through the paperwork on my desk without a care in the world. Since she was looking at paperwork for the shop, I didn’t worry over her abuse of guest privileges. “About time...What?...No, no bleeding and no loss of limb or life, but it was a near thing...”

I listened as she described the attack, and I tried not to cringe when she mentioned me by name. I couldn’t help but wince when one of her comments made it clear that the master of the city had known who I was for quite some time. Leaving town tonight was beginning to seem like an attractive option, but I couldn’t do it. There was still a chance — a miniscule one — that the attack was aimed at Dawn or me. If so, our best hope for survival lay in staying here, where all our protections were in place.

When Ms. Blake got off the phone, she turned to me and said, “Jean-Claude is on his way. He’ll probably be here before RPIT arrives.”

A vampire in my home? No. Absolutely not. “Fine. I trust he’ll be comfortable waiting outside.”

“You won’t let him in? I thought you didn’t discriminate.” Her face was a curious mixture of emotion, but I didn’t have time to sort it out. She’d managed to raise my ire again.

“I don’t discriminate against humans,” I answered in a voice that brooked no discussion.

“Let me guess — you’re a card-carrying member of HAV,” she said, her eyes narrow and her face grim.

“Please give me _some_ credit. My prejudices are my own, and I have no need to share them with a group of moronic lunatics who wouldn’t know real danger if it was shoving a sword through their heart,” I said disgustedly. I turned to Dawn and Nathaniel, who had clearly caught the last part of our exchange.

Dawn, bless her heart, held up two bowls and said, “Hate to interrupt Snarkfest ‘04, but if you two don’t break for ice cream soon, Nate and I are gonna eat it all.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_November 5, 2001_

_I will be relieved beyond measure when I don’t have to go out after dark any longer. One of the local vampires attempted to make me let her feed, but I was able to brush off her compulsion. If I were in any position to call myself an upright citizen, I would report her to the authorities for trying to force me. As it is, I’m forced to leave her free to attack some other traveler this night. _

_I’m trying to comfort myself with the notion that she won’t kill her meal, but my training and a voice I call my “inner Buffy” are both screaming at me to go out and stake the monster before she traps someone else. I can’t, of course. If caught, I would be convicted of murder, no matter how sympathetic the local population might be to my cause._

_And what of Dawn if I’m arrested? She’s the real reason I won’t go back out tonight. She’s still too defenseless, even though she’s starting to accept the need to learn how to use magic to protect herself. Were I to be sent to jail, she would be alone in a country so tied up in knots over civil rights that it’s willing to suffer the undead._

*****

September 13, 2004

After we finished our ice cream, I wanted to go clear the table upstairs, but Ms. Blake wouldn’t allow it. She said the police needed to look for evidence first. I would have debated the chances of them finding anything, but I couldn’t bring myself back to that level of passion. Too much had happened in too short a time, and the evening was in no way done. I was happy for Dawn’s sake that her first class the next day wasn’t until early afternoon. It meant she would be able to sleep off the emotional effects of having to defend against a dangerous assailant.

Dawn and I finished cleaning up in the kitchen just as the doorbell rang. I wanted to tell her to go to her room, but there was no point in it. She would simply argue that it wasn’t every day a girl got to catch a glimpse of the master of the city. And it _was_ he. The wards had several purposes beyond protection and one was to inform me when a vampire was knocking.

I didn’t hurry down the hall, though I could feel Dawn’s excitement trying to push me forward. Ms. Blake and Nathaniel stood in the entry way, waiting for me to answer the door. Nathaniel seemed unconcerned, but Ms. Blake was still irritated by the fact that I wouldn’t invite Jean-Claude into my home.

I opened the door to a vision in black silk and leather. If I hadn’t been so emotionally wrung out, the flashback to my time with Angelus would have been far worse than it was. As it happened, I managed — just barely — to restrain myself from slamming the door in his face. “_Monsieur_ Jean-Claude,” I said, more to acknowledge him than anything else.

He made a small half-bow to me and said, “_Monsieur_ Giles. I understand I have you to thank for Anita’s safety this evening.”

“Your gratitude is appreciated, but entirely unnecessary,” I said, forcing myself to follow the forms of etiquette.

“On the contrary, sir. I believe it is sublimely necessary,” he answered in an obscure and painfully exquisite form of one-ups-manship.

I chose not to continue the game — he was a vampire, for god’s sake. I chose retreat, instead, saying, “Dawn? Let’s go into the kitchen to give them some privacy.” I turned back to Jean-Claude, taking care not to look him in the eyes, and offered my own half-bow before saying, “_Monsieur_,” and leaving them to it.

When we reached the kitchen, Dawn had a look of starry-eyed wonder, and I seriously considered filling the sink with cold water so I could dunk her head in it. “He’s beautiful,” she said on a sigh.

“He’s a corpse,” I answered, hoping to nip that particular crush in the bud. I wasn’t sure why I bothered. Dawn fell in and out of love with the celebrity of the minute on a fairly regular basis. If I left it alone, she would be sighing over some singer or athlete within a week or two.

“He’s a totally hot corpse,” she said as she filled the tea kettle. After three and a half years of living with me, she knew well the most important rule — pour tea down Dad’s throat during times of stress, and he might just get through it without killing anyone.

“That’s a contradiction. Corpses are cold,” I said as I pulled the teapot out of the cupboard.

“I don’t remember you being this psycho when Buffy was dating Angel,” she said as she turned on the burner.

“The first time or the second time?” I was momentarily hurt that she needed the reminder — after all, she’d survived her own encounter with Angelus. My thoughts must have been obvious, because the next thing I knew, she had wormed her way under my arm to give me a hug and an apology.

She said, “Didn’t mean to bring up old memories. I’m sorry.” She started rocking us gently. Based on prior experience, I widened my stance in expectation of needing to keep my balance. It wasn’t long before we were moving as if we were on the Pirate Ship ride, and that would have been fine if she hadn’t started singing “I Got You, Babe” in her thin soprano.

Silly wench.

I joined her at the second line. At the chorus, I swept her into a tight waltz designed to fit the size of the room. The kitchen wasn’t large enough for a serious dip, but I did manage to twirl her once or twice before we both collapsed against one another, overcome by the giggles. Our reaction was hardly surprising, really, given the amount of tension we’d been under since mid-afternoon. A bit of giddiness was just the thing to restore our spirits.

When we both calmed down a bit, I cupped her face in my hands to kiss her nose. Ignoring her look of disgust, I asked, “Have I told you how much I adore you?”

She grinned, the nose-kissing incident forgiven, and said, “Not lately. I think that means you owe me a new car.”

“Brat.”

“Brit.”

Our byplay was interrupted both by the teakettle and by Ms. Blake. I let go of Dawn so she could tend to the water, and I turned to our guest. I didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, watching us, but I could see that something was off in her expression. I just wasn’t sure what it was. I raised my eyebrows, unwilling to give voice to the question. She stared at me, expressionless, for a long moment before saying, “Jean-Claude wants to talk to you.”

So much for the restoration of my spirits. I nodded and was halfway down the hall when I realized she wasn’t behind me. I had no intention of meeting him without a buffer of some sort, so I stopped and turned to say, “Ms. Blake?”

She shook herself out of her thoughts and walked toward me. Her swagger was missing, and I found myself wondering what had affected her so deeply that her shields had disappeared. It was puzzling, but not enough to make me ask. She was the type of woman who wouldn’t appreciate the question or the sentiment behind it. On the other hand, I was grateful for the minor mystery she presented. It distracted me long enough to get me to the entry way without running in the opposite direction.

The sight of him the second time around wasn’t as much of a shock, and I was able to be relatively civil with scarcely a homicidal thought. My reaction wasn’t fair, though, and I knew it wasn’t fair. Technically, the vampires in this world were far less evil than those in our home world. Jean-Claude and his ilk were thought by some to retain their soul after being turned, and they were very clearly _not_ the demons Angel and Spike were. I had no right to treat him with more distrust than I treated Spike, but for all his pathetically evil ways, Spike didn’t have the power to enthrall anyone.

I fixed my eyes on Jean-Claude’s nose. I thought there might be a chance I was immune to a vampire’s thrall, based on an encounter I’d had when we were still in California, but this was neither the time nor place to test that theory. In fact, I couldn’t think of any situation in which I would care to test my will in such a fashion.

“_Monsieur_? Ms. Blake said you wished to speak with me,” I said, having schooled my features into what I hoped was a neutral expression. She arrived a moment after I did, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nathaniel go to stand close to her. I wasn’t sure who was more in need of comfort — she or Nathaniel — and I wasn’t sure they knew either. I also wasn’t sure why I cared.

“_Monsieur_ Giles, I would like you and your lovely daughter to join me for dinner tomorrow night,” he said with a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

“Your offer is very kind, but we must decline,” I said, even as I felt my bowels turn to water. She had to have known this was why he wanted to speak to me, so why hadn’t she told him how I felt? A quick glance in her direction offered no clues. Her shields were back in place.

“May I ask why?” The bastard was playing me and didn’t care if I knew it. Fine.

“No, you may not. Was there anything else?” I answered politely enough, but I was about two inches from the end of my rope, and I still had to get through a police investigation before escaping into sleep.

His light smile still in place, he offered, “Perhaps another night?”

I wondered what I’d done to deserve this particular fate. It wasn’t that I was afraid of eating with him. I had no doubt the food he served would be delicious and that he would be the perfect and most gracious host. But he was a vampire, and I could not find it in me to overlook that particular flaw, especially since I didn’t have the right to kill him if I suddenly decided the world would be a better place without him. I finally allowed my voice and eyes to go flat before saying, “I think not, _Monsieur_.”

He looked as if he were about to push the issue, but at that moment, the police arrived. I never thought I’d be overwhelmed with joy to see them, but there you have it. Jean-Claude accepted the inevitable and moved to the back corner of the landing to allow the officers entry.

The first one through the door greeted Ms. Blake with a rude comment about her sex life. She offered a comment about the small size of his penis, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. I think he could tell too, because he gave her an odd look before craning his neck to see what he could of the apartment.

“Anita? This place doesn’t look like anything happened here. Where’s the blood and gore? The bodies? How about the bullet holes? You sure you didn’t call to report an angry chess match or something?” Except for a young man who seemed to take himself far too seriously, the rest of the police officers laughed along with him. I was torn between the need to explain the attack and the desire to laugh right along with them so they would leave.

“It wasn’t that kind of attack Zerbrowski,” said Ms. Blake as she pushed away from the wall. “It started on the rooftop.” She walked away down the hall, leaving Zerbrowski to follow or not. He suddenly realized he hadn’t been introduced to anyone, and when he spotted me, he gave me an apologetic shrug before following Ms. Blake.

One of the uniformed officers came up to me to get specific information. She asked if there was a quiet place where we could talk, and I suggested the living room, since no one had gone in there as yet. Dawn apparently heard me, because I saw her make a beeline around the other police officers so she could meet us. I caught sight of Nathaniel looking lost and alone amidst the bustle of the investigation, and I signalled that he should join us.

When I sat down on the sofa, I more or less expected Dawn to get into the nook of my arm to cuddle for a bit. I hadn’t expected Nathaniel to do the same thing on my other side. I could feel a fine tremble working its way through his muscles and resisted the urge to scratch behind his ears and say, “There, there.” Instead, I tightened my arm around him and let him get as close as he could without actually crawling into my skin.

Once upon a time, I would have been appalled by so much physical contact. As Buffy’s Watcher, the only defense I had against the heartbreaking reality of losing the people I loved was to try and keep them at a distance, both physically and emotionally. Buffy was the only one allowed anywhere near my heart after Jenny was murdered, and even then, I can count on one hand the number of times we’d had close physical contact outside of training. Taking care of Dawn, however, broke me of that particular vice. In our first months here, she needed vast amounts of reassurance, and the only things that seemed to drag her out of her depression were hugs and cuddles.

The officer didn’t raise her eyebrows at the assembly before her, but it was plain to see she had any number of opinions about it. I really didn’t give a damn. I wanted to go to bed, and I was suffering at the thought of a perfectly good pot of tea going to waste in the kitchen. The only thing I could be grateful for at the moment was the fact that Nathaniel knew how to cuddle without tickling — a feat Dawn still hadn’t completely mastered.

I spent the next ten minutes or so answering questions about who we were, the layout of the building, the design of the physical security systems and so on. I suspected I would be talking with the Zerbrowski chap about the actual attack.

I’d just finished giving the police officer the name and number of my alarm company when I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. It wasn’t pleasant, and when I looked around to find the source, I saw Ms. Blake standing in the doorway. She was glaring at me, and based on the amount of energy I was starting to feel from her, I was about to find out if looks really could kill.

Nathaniel stirred, apparently having sensed the tension level rising, and looked up at Ms. Blake. He moved off the couch in a long, sensuous stretch and crawled over to her on all fours. It was a purely submissive move — one that a member of a pack or a pard would make when trying to appease their alpha. When he reached her legs, he rubbed his face on them, just barely avoiding burying his face in her crotch. It seemed to be enough. She reached down to touch his head, then told him to stand.

I was disgusted with her for not maintaining enough control over her emotions so that Nathaniel wouldn’t have to go through such a humiliating display in front of the police. I knew perfectly well he’d enjoyed himself, but — bloody hell. I had no right to judge either him or her in the way they behaved. Neither Nathaniel nor Ms. Blake had suffered any, and both were quite a bit calmer for having gone through the ritual. I turned back to the officer, who was just as dumbfounded as I, and said, “Is there anything else?”


	6. Chapter 6

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_July 14, 2002_

_I’ve found the perfect building. It’s in an area with residents and businesses, and the estate agent assures me that I’ll be able to make an apartment out of the top floor. I might end up converting the first floor to a rentable unit as well, but I’m not certain yet. It may well be put to better use as storage for stock and a training area for Dawn and me. The ground floor will, of course, be the home of Rupert’s Books. Or possibly Magic By The Book. Or, as Dawn suggested, Watcher’s Nook. We’ll get it sorted out before the shop opens, I’m sure. _

_For now, though, once the negotiations for the purchase price are complete, we’ll be able to get a contractor in to build us a home and a store. Dawn and I are both looking forward to being in a stable, permanent location. The building is in fairly decent shape, so it won’t take much to get the bookstore up and running. That will have to be the priority for now, since we very much need an income. I have no intention of muddying the waters here in St. Louis by running new cons. When we moved here, we regained our respectability._

_One of the other urgent matters is to get Dawn back into school, which will be possible once we have a permanent address. We’ve done well together, she and I, but she needs to be around children her own age, else she’ll be old before her time. As it is, she already knows far more Greek and Latin than she’ll ever need in her lifetime._

_I must admit, the idea of having a real home also appeals because I’ll be able to consider dating, once we’re settled in. I miss having a woman in my life with whom I can speak about adult matters. More important, I miss physical companionship. I enjoy sex, but even more, I enjoy making love. I’ve been too long without either activity._

*****

September 14, 2004

The police, Ms. Blake and Nathaniel didn’t leave until well after midnight. They found, as I suspected, nothing. Since I never expected police involvement after a magical attack, I designed the wards to use nearby latent magic to keep them active, even if I wasn’t in the area. By the time they attempted to search the roof, any signature that might have remained was gone. I supposed I should have made even a half-hearted effort to explain this, but I was feeling too petty even to pretend to be a helpful citizen.

No matter. I made a mental note to alter the spells the next day. If, as I expected, Ms. Blake was to be a regular visitor, these attacks could well continue. I decided that I’d rather leave something for the police to find, especially if it led back to the assailant.

Just before Ms. Blake left, I told her rather bluntly she should see a witch to try and determine what, if any, damage may have occurred during the assault on her. She gave me a noncommittal grunt and pulled Nathaniel along to leave. He looked unhappy, and I wasn’t quite sure why. It didn’t seem to be due to the attack, which he came through with flying colors. I put the matter aside and closed up the apartment. Dawn had escaped to bed an hour or so earlier, and I had every intention of doing the same.

I awoke in the morning to the smell of pancakes. Clearly, Dawn had bounced back sufficiently from the previous night’s activities to worry about her stomach again, and that fact alone was enough to brighten my outlook for the day. I didn’t exactly bound out of bed, but I did move more quickly than usual to don my bathrobe to join her in the kitchen. My haste had absolutely nothing to do with the bacon I could smell as an accompaniment to the pancakes.

When I got to the kitchen, Dawn was standing at the stove. Without looking around, she asked, “Funny shapes or rounds?”

“If I say rounds, will you actually make them that way?” I snaked an arm around her to snag a bit of bacon, but she swatted my hand away.

“Probably not,” she admitted, even as she shoved me toward the plate cupboard. “Set the table and stop trying to steal more than your fair share of the meat.”

“Yes, mum,” I said with no small amount of sarcasm. I was fairly certain I was still the primary adult in the relationship, but the way she behaved sometimes made me wonder if she agreed with me.

When she didn’t respond, I looked at her more closely and said, “Dawn? Are you alright?”

She turned to me, a serious expression on her face, and said, “It hit me — sort of yesterday, but mostly this morning — everything you’ve done since we got here was to protect me, to keep me safe. Teaching me magic and how to fight — I thought you were being paranoid, but now —” Her voice trailed off as she went back to tending the pancakes.

I looked at her for a long moment before pulling plates out of the cupboard. I thought about what she said as I set plates on the table, and I honestly didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t tell her everything was alright, because it clearly was not. Nor could I promise that future attacks against us would end as well as last night’s, because they might not. I couldn’t even promise to be here for her always. I realized then what she was most worried about.

I said quietly, “I want you to be safe, love, even if I’m not around to see to it myself.”

“I know,” she said in a small voice. “I just wish you could be around forever, you know? Anyway, you can’t and I can’t, and that’s the way life sucks,” she said, straining to keep her voice normal in the face of unyielding reality. I watched as she seemed to physically shake off her gloom. When she turned to face me, her expression didn’t show her earlier introspection. Instead, she looked as if she were girding herself for the day. She said, “So. What’s on the agenda today?”

I was still close enough to being the Rupert Giles of Sunnydale that I was grateful for her abrupt change of subject. For all that I’d been her father for the last three and a half years, I still felt ill-prepared to help her through the traps and pitfalls of everyday life. So, I ran with the new topic for all I was worth. I said, “I rather thought I’d like to find out why Ms. Blake continued to suffer even after I brought her within the protection of the wards.”

“That’s an excellent question, ‘cause I could have sworn you told me that the wards would prevent anyone or anything with the intent to harm from getting in. So am I research gal this morning?” She brought the pancakes and bacon to the table, then went to get the orange juice.

I pulled two glasses out of the cupboard and put them on the table, saying, “Don’t you have studying to do?”

“Please,” she said, taking a seat. “It’s way too early in the semester for that kind of workload. I’m all caught up and even a little ahead, which means I’m all yours before classes this afternoon.”

I brought silverware for the two of us and took a seat myself. Dawn lifted the funny-shape pancakes from the top of the stack, revealing rounds beneath. I smiled in approval and said, “If you don’t mind giving up a beautiful morning, I’ll accept your offer.”

“Cool. Am I book girl or ‘net girl?” Her demeanor was brightening up the more we spoke. Though I was appalled by the circumstances, I was pleased to be able to give Dawn something useful to do. It was an illusion, of course, but I thought it might help her feel a bit more in control of at least one aspect of the situation.

“Neither, actually. I want you to take a look at the protective spells and see if you can find a loophole in them,” I answered. I snagged a few pieces of bacon before Dawn could steal them all, and I returned her dirty look with a bland one of my own.

“You know I don’t see magic all that well,” she said. “Books are more my thing.”

I finished swallowing my food and took a drink of juice before answering, “I wrote the spells down, if you’ll recall. I want you to take a look at the incantations and the ingredients I used. Maybe they’ll tell you something, help you determine if I overlooked something.”

“You were right — I’d forgotten. But I can’t imagine how you could have overlooked anything. You’re so obsessively thorough, I think the IRS is planning to take lessons from you,” she said with a bit of teasing in her voice — which I ignored with dignity. She continued, “So if I’m spell girl, what will you be doing?”

“Checking the wards. I doubt there’s anything left to see, but I might get lucky,” I said without thinking. And then I winced in anticipation of what she was about to say.

“No. You have to go on a date with an actual woman to have any chance of getting lucky,” she said, speaking as if to a small, somewhat dim child. When I looked over at her, she was wearing the trademark Summers smirk. Before I could head her off into a different direction, she said, “So when are you gonna ask Abigail out on a date?”

“Dawn!” If the expression on my face was as pained as my voice, she should have been running to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance.

“I mean, the woman’s been wooing you for like six months now. Don’t you think it’s time to give her some of that Gilesy loving?”

“_Dawn!_”

“Oh, come on. Don’t even _try_ to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said casually.

“Where do you get these — she’s _not_ wooing me,” I said, exasperated with her beyond all measure. I wanted to wring her neck. I wasn’t quite sure when she’d become such an utter brat, but I was convinced it was well before my watch.

“One, she’s been dropping by the store two or three times a week for at least the last six months, buying something, I might add, every time she comes in. Two, at least every other week, she brings a food item of some kind or other for us. Three, she’s lost at least twenty pounds since she started coming in. Four, her face lights up every time you choose to bestow a smile on her. And five, she’s been pumping me for information about you for like forever,” she said with a flourish.

I hated to admit it, but Dawn was right. I’d seen the same things myself, though not the attempts to get information about me. I think I just hoped the issue would resolve itself on its own. I don’t know why I was so dead set against the idea of asking her out. Even before she’d lost weight, I’d thought Abigail was a beautiful woman. I certainly enjoyed her company whenever she came into the store, and I did look forward to seeing her. I frowned at Dawn and said, “I didn’t know she’d been asking you about me.”

“Sure. How better to get in good than to have an ally on the inside?” She must have seen my discomfort with the notion, because she added, “Chill, Dad. This is how women do things. We talk to each other to find out what’s the what.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said, stammering a bit. I stupidly pulled off my glasses to wipe them and had them snatched out of my hands. “Those really do need cleaning, you know,” I told her.

She held them up to the light and said, “Nope. Not a speck of dust on them. So. Abigail. Datable, yes?” She put my glasses down on the table, well out of my reach.

“No,” I said reluctantly. It was the first time I was admitting this out loud, and I was a bit uncomfortable with what I was about to say. “Don’t get me wrong. I like her. I like her rather a lot, in fact. I enjoy seeing her and chatting, but —”

“But no sparkage, huh?” Dawn’s face hadn’t fallen, exactly, but it wasn’t quite as hopeful as it had been before.

“No. No — sparkage, as you say. It’s a shame, really,” I said, thinking of the situation. I wished very much that I found her interesting in a romantic sense, but I didn’t. She was just a bit too nurturing for my taste. Though I had no doubt she would make the perfect wife and mother, I wasn’t convinced she could be even an acceptable lover for me. I just couldn’t see her being willing to indulge me by participating in certain of my sexual penchants. Speaking of which —

“Dawn, perhaps you would care to explain to me the circumstance under which you learned exactly what a top is,” I said with a stern look on my face as I ambushed her. I probably didn’t want to know, but she was my responsibility, and as such, I had an obligation to at least ask. If any of the gods loved me at that moment, she would throw a minor tantrum and refuse to answer. Based on the events of the prior twenty-four hours, I thought it was quite likely I’d irritated every single one of them in some fashion or other, and that she would actually stick around for the discussion.

She got a bit nervous at that and said in a slight stammer of her own, “It’s a child’s toy. Been around forever. You know that.”

I could see the wheels turning as she attempted to bluff her way out of the interrogation. I deepened my frown just a hint, and said in a far too gentle voice, “I saw the look on your face last night when I was speaking with Nathaniel. You knew perfectly well what I was saying.”

She blushed and wouldn’t look up at me for the longest time. When she finally spoke, it was in fits and starts, and she continued to refuse to look at me. She said, “Max and I kind of went to an adult bookstore a few weeks ago. There were magazines. We bought them.”

Max had been Dawn’s best friend since we arrived in St. Louis, and the only way I could describe her was in terms of a television character. She was St. Louis’ equivalent of Eddie Haskell, and like Wally Cleaver, Dawn would not hear anything bad about her friend. Personally, I was surprised Max hadn’t landed in jail yet, given some of the stunts she’d pulled. Unfortunately, now was not the time to berate Dawn for continuing to be friends with the girl.

“Where are the magazines?”

“Max has them,” she answered in a small voice.

I was trying — I was trying very hard, in fact — not to be judgemental, but lord, it was hard. I hadn’t been much older than Dawn when I first explored that particular avenue of sexuality, yet I was just old enough to be outraged that a young girl — my daughter, for god’s sake — was as curious as I’d been. Yes, on one level, I was reacting in an utterly chauvinistic and hypocritical manner, but I was certain I could be excused. Much of my anxiety was driven by the fact that _my_ daughter had actually thought about sex.

I supposed the largest part of my discomfort stemmed from the fact that had I been Dawn’s biological father, she would have stormed out of the room long before now, the perfect picture of teenaged outrage. That she hadn’t was a testament to the strength of our bond to one another. We were closer than most fathers and daughters were, primarily because we’d had no one to rely on but one another for more than a year. The result was a relationship in which open, honest discussion was the rule, not the exception. At the moment, though, I envied all the other fathers. Were they in a similar situation, they would still be in blissful ignorance of their daughter’s curiosity.

“You realize, of course, that this means I’ll be locking you in your room for the next thirty or forty years or so,” I said in a meditative tone.


	7. Chapter 7

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_August 8, 2004_

_Dawn and I’ve returned from a weekend of orientation — though disorientation describes it better, I think — at Washington University. I’d hoped to be able to set something up so she could live on campus, but the dormitories are impossible to control. I left it up to Dawn to decide, and she chose to live at home. If the shop continues to do well, we might be able to get her into off-campus living next year, assuming she finds a suitable roommate. I’ve already told her that Max is **not** suitable._

_Abigail tells me the store was fine in our absence. It was kind of her to step in and offer to mind it on Saturday. I didn’t really like the idea of shutting it down even for just a day. I need to start looking around for a part-time employee. Dawn wants to decrease her hours when she starts school, and I approve wholeheartedly. _

_I thought of asking Abigail if she might be interested in the position, but I’m sure she has her own life to attend to. It’s not difficult work by any means, but it does require a conscientious attention to detail. Training a person won’t be difficult at all. I’ll ask Dawn in the morning what she thinks of me posting a notice on campus._

*****

September 14, 2004

After the minor blow-up in the kitchen, I was the one who finally stormed out. I really wished Dawn had been the one to do it. She was the one being questioned, and she was the teenager. It should have been she who stomped out in outrage. As it was, though, I simply couldn’t take anymore open and honest communication. About sex, that is. If the subject had been anything else, I think I could have handled it better than I had.

Dawn joined me in the store about an hour after the kitchen incident, and we both behaved as if nothing had happened. I chalked our mutual ability to slip into denial and repression down to Sunnydale training. Perhaps one day I would be old enough to have another conversation with Dawn about sex, but I doubted it very much. Judging by the quality of her silence on the subject, I believed she was in complete agreement with me.

She was still parked at our research table when I opened the store at ten o’clock. Nothing had been disturbed downstairs during the previous night’s attack, and I was quite happy about that. Memories of the troll attack at the Magic Box were still enough to generate the occasional nightmare for me. Happily, though, there was no such thing as a demon attack in St. Louis — at least not that I was aware of. I was fairly certain something like that would have been mentioned in the newspapers at least once.

We’d been open for a half hour when I received another visitor — and he _was_ a visitor, not a customer. For one thing, he didn’t browse or even glance around when he came in. He spotted me immediately and came up to introduce himself. “Mr. Giles? I’m Micah Callahan. I wondered if we could talk,” he said.

“Mr. Callahan,” I said, holding out my hand. He had the most striking eyes — feline, unless I missed my guess. I gestured toward one of the seating areas and said, “Certainly. May I ask what this is about?” I had a fairly good idea, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s about Nathaniel,” he said, taking the armchair opposite to mine. “He’s been pretty upset since he and Anita got back last night.”

“That’s understandable. Though it was brief, the attack was rather ferocious,” I said, even as I wondered if I would have to try to convince him that the attack wasn’t aimed at me. “May I ask how you know Nathaniel?”

“I’m his Nimir-raj, the leader of his pard,” he said, and I was amazed. He seemed a bit too relaxed and calm to be an alpha. But if he was responsible for Nathaniel, it made sense that he was here. I only wished he had been the one to come in yesterday, instead of Ms. Blake.

I stammered out a confused, “I see.”

“He’s not upset about the attack,” Mr. Callahan said, leaning forward slightly. He had essentially destroyed my working theory as to why he was here, so I waited for him to continue. “He’s upset because he didn’t get to finish the interview.”

I felt my mouth start to open slightly, and I clamped my lips shut to prevent it from happening. Of all that had gone on last night, _that_ was what was worrying Nathaniel? I was confused.

“Mr. Callahan, I’m confused. Surely Nathaniel understands we can complete the interview another time, and that I’m not holding anything against him,” I said. I could feel a frown forming, and I made a conscious effort to relax my face. Mr. Callahan was clearly involved with Ms. Blake in some fashion, and relaxed or not, I had no desire to antagonize the man.

“He’s upset because Anita’s being pissy about him working here. She’s trying to tell him you won’t want to have him here after —” He broke off, apparently sensing my rising anger.

I said only, “Is she?”

Mr. Callahan shifted his posture slightly, and I realized suddenly that he thought I was about to start a fight. I took a deep, calming breath and said, “I apologize. Ms. Blake and I seem to strike sparks off one another whenever we’re in the same city. My ire is directed solely at her, not you.”

It was enough to relax him again, and he said, “She can be a little abrasive at times, but you’ll never find anyone better to have at your back.” I answered with a noncommittal shrug and a look of skepticism, but said nothing otherwise.

Taking that as a cue to continue, he said, “Back to Nathaniel — he’s upset, and he’s got everyone else in the house taking sides, with most taking his.”

“They’re taking sides? Against whom?” I was beginning to feel as I did when I started watching _Passions_ with Spike that one year. I thought perhaps a scorecard would help, but I had no way of getting paper and pen without being obvious, so I sat still and waited for an explanation.

“Against Anita. It’s a bad situation, and she’s not making it any better. She’s been like this ever since Nathaniel came home this summer and said he wanted to work for you,” he explained, looking me in the eyes.

All he found there was a deepening confusion. “Nathaniel told Ms. Blake he wanted to work for me? When?”

“Couple of months ago. He was shopping in the area and caught sight of you and your daughter. I think you were having lunch. Anyway, he liked the smell of you and started following you around. That’s when he found out you owned this place,” he said. For some reason, he was watching my reaction carefully. I didn’t think too deeply about it, because I was quite bewildered by this time.

“He liked my — but I’ve never seen him before yesterday,” I finally managed to splutter out. I hated it when my stammer deepened in front of new acquaintances.

“Nathaniel’s pretty good at staying out of sight when he wants to. When you put out word that you were looking to hire, it took him a solid month of nagging before he was able to convince Anita to let him apply,” he said, sounding mildly amused.

“He — nagged — Ms. Blake?” I said it more to fill the space with noise rather than a real desire to know something.

“It didn’t look or sound like nagging and whining, but that’s what it was,” he said, sounding and looking openly amused at this point.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but if you hadn’t guessed, I’m quite perplexed. After Ms. Blake’s first visit, I was under the distinct impression that she was making Nathaniel get a job, not that Nathaniel had expressed a desire to work here,” I said, taking off my glasses to polish them. With Dawn safely ensconced at the research table, I could do so with relative assurance that I could put them back on as soon as I was done.

Mr. Callahan just shook his head slightly and said, “That sounds like the Anita we all know and love.”

“Not _all_, surely,” I said, putting my glasses back on. “What’s the real reason behind her behavior? It was appalling last night, and though I’d like to believe she really is that rude, I’m finding it difficult to convince myself.”

“You haven’t guessed?” The look of disbelief on his face wasn’t feigned.

“Guessed what?” I was getting a bit fed up with feeling as though I was being led around by the nose.

“She’s jealous of you. You’re the first person she’s ever seen Nathaniel respond to in a non-sexual way. He likes you as a person, not as a potential top, and that pisses her off.”

“What?” I knew I must look a sight, with my face all twisted up like that, but really.

“She’s never been able to get Nathaniel to see her as just a friend. She’s jealous, because you have that part of him, and she doesn’t,” he explained gently. His voice was soothing, but I’m sure the hint of a purr was just my imagination.

On the one hand, it was nice to have that reassurance. On the other hand, I was again being cast as the sexless old man. Perhaps I should ask Abigail out after all. If nothing else, it might get me out of that particular rut. I shook my head at my thoughts and continued my conversation with Mr. Callahan. By the time he left, we had agreed that Nathaniel should come back that afternoon — alone — to complete his interview. Mr. Callahan also assured me that he would keep Ms. Blake as far away from me as he could manage.

Just before he left, he paused at the door and asked, “Is it true you picked Anita up and carried her last night? Twice?”

“Well, yes. It was necessary,” I answered, puzzled by the question.

He just chuckled and left. As I thought about it, it occurred to me that I was probably lucky to be intact and alive. I made a mental note to never again do that to her unless she was unconscious or I was wearing body armor.

I took care of the morning’s customers, leaving Dawn to her research. It was close to noon before she came up for air and called out, “Dad?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” I walked over to the table to see what she’d come up with. I hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with the wards, so I expected the problem was an oversight on my part.

“Is hate the same as intent to harm?” She was staring at one of the spells, chewing lightly on a pencil eraser as she asked the question.

“Hatred is an emotion. It has no intent,” I said, my eyebrows coming together in thoughtfulness.

“So if someone dropped a boatload of hate on someone else, the wards wouldn’t see it as intent?” She looked up at me, waiting for me to see what she was seeing.

It took hardly any time at all. “No. If the hatred was delivered as part of a spell, and the spell dissipated as soon as the payload was delivered, there would be nothing for the wards to block. I wonder if the timing was merely coincidence — that Ms. Blake would have started to feel better just then even if the attack _hadn’t_ ended.”

“Well _I_ wonder who hates Anita enough to do something like that to her,” she said with a certain amount of interest.

“It’s still Ms. Blake to you,” I chided. The American fashion of calling their elders and new acquaintances by their first name was quite grating to me. “Having met her myself, I’m not surprised anyone could hate her that much. I don’t suppose you found any spells that describe how to injure with emotion.”

“You suppose wrong,” she said, handing me Warnock’s _Treatise on Spells of the Heart_. “And I gotta book. Class starts in an hour, and I want to be there early today.” She gave me a hug and a kiss before picking up her book bag and leaving the store.

I took the book with me to the register and studied it between ringing up sales. The spell was quite fascinating, and it was as I’d thought — there was a time limit on it. As I read more of the details, though, I realized that Ms. Blake must be incredibly strong in her own right simply to have survived. Warnock explained, without detail, that it was possible to boost the spell sufficiently so that a single emotion could kill.

Lovely. If they ever caught up with the assailant, it would be a death penalty case. The person would be dead within three months of the verdict, and there would likely be no appeal. I could understand the thinking behind the law, even as I was appalled by it. Americans seemed to accept death and violence all too easily, and their concept of punishment reflected that habit of thought. Still, I couldn’t argue the logic. Witches were notoriously dangerous behind bars. It was safer for the community to make sure they were no longer a threat of any kind, even if that meant occasionally executing the innocent.

I continued reading through the book, and the next time I looked up, it was closing in on half past one. I realized I hadn’t yet gotten anything to eat and thought to make a call for delivery from the deli. Instead, I closed the book and made sure my wallet was in my pocket before I stood up.

I remember going to the door and walking out, leaving it unlocked for some reason, but feeling that everything would be alright. I may have walked two or three blocks — I’m not quite sure — and I remember turning into an alleyway. There were two gargoyles hunkered down, waiting for me, and I wanted to leave, but I wasn’t able to generate enough willpower to force my feet to move. I just stood there like an idiot as they came up to me and knocked me unconscious.


	8. Chapter 8

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_November 6, 2001_

_I woke Dawn up with my screaming early this morning. I think it was the incident with the vampire that triggered the nightmare. It’s not one I’ve had for a couple of years — I believe the last time was the night we discovered Faith’s treachery. We’d waited outside the mansion for the cue to enter, and I could hear Angel as Angelus. It was all I could do not to run into the night, away from him, away from the mansion._

_The nightmare starts the same every time I have it. I’m tied to a chair, and my blood is running freely. Angelus approaches from behind, and in a dreadful sing-song, he recites a horrible limerick, “Buffy Summers is certainly dead/I think I must have stolen her head/Miss Edith says that she wants new eyes/But I think I might be telling lies/Just to get Rupert to bed.”_

_It starts, then, and I relive it all. The cuts, the threats, the teasing, the pain, the whipping, the biting, the blood, the ripping, the desperate efforts not to scream — all of it._

*****

September 15, 2004

I awoke to find myself in a dark room, naked and alone — I thought. When a wave of nausea swept over me, I struggled to get on my side before I vomited. An anonymous pair of hands — warm — got under my left side to help me roll over just in time.

I felt miserable.

Given the headache that accompanied the nausea, I self-diagnosed a concussion, something I hadn’t experienced since well before leaving Sunnydale. It was one of the few things I _hadn’t_ missed when we came here, and fair or not, I chose to blame Ms. Blake for my current predicament.

There was no way for me to know who was behind me, but it was clear that the person was alive and male. The hands felt a bit large to belong to a woman. Whoever he was, when he slipped off the bed, the slight motion threatened to upset my stomach again. I moved further over the edge, hoping the silk sheets wouldn’t suddenly shift and drop me into the pool of vomitus on the floor. I lay there for a few minutes, wondering if I would heave again or if I was done with that phase of my recovery.

I couldn’t imagine what kind of abductor gave a prisoner silk sheets to lie on, then lost track of the thought as I rode another wave of nausea. I managed to maintain control this time, but it was a near thing. I was half on my stomach, half on my side when I became aware of a low glow illuminating the room. It was candlelight, and I was nearly moved to tears with gratitude that he hadn’t turned on an electric light. It would have been too much for me to bear.

I could hear the slight sounds of someone moving around, but my eyes were fixed on the corner of the nightstand. It was the only way I could keep the room from spinning. I would have to wait to find out who my companion was until later.

It wasn’t long before he was at the side of the bed with towels and a pail of water to clean up my mess. In the dim light, his hair seemed to be dark blonde or brown. He might have been naked as well, but I was still focusing on the corner of the nightstand. From prior experience, I knew it would be at least another ten minutes or so before my body accepted the evidence of my eyes and stopped trying to accommodate a spinning room.

When he cleaned up the last of it, he stood and left the room. He wasn’t quite naked, but he might as well have been, from the little I saw out of the corner of my eye. Though I continued to concentrate on the nightstand, I did an inventory of my injuries. Several areas felt as if bruises might form at some point. I could move fingers and toes, so nothing major seemed to be broken. My ribs were sore, but not cracked. Most important of all, though, I was fairly certain I hadn’t been violated in any way when I was unconscious.

I’m not sure how long I lay there like that, but when another person — vampire, this time, I was sure of it — entered, I felt much more able to cope. I pushed myself up with my right arm, and cautiously swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I was still hunched over, but at least I had a sheet to cover me, and I was almost in an upright position.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I took two more long, slow breaths just for good measure, and then I said in a thick voice, “I want my clothes.”

A soft French tenor answered, “I’m sorry, _Monsieur_ Giles, but your clothing was lost. I’ve ordered new things to be brought here, but they haven’t yet arrived.”

I was still hunched over, because I didn’t trust myself to sit up straight just yet. My mouth was dry, but I’d be damned before I’d ask Jean-Claude for water. In a somewhat slurred voice, I said, “Why’d you kidnap me?”

“I did not. You were taken outside your store more than twelve hours ago. Nathaniel happened to see the attack, and he called Anita. She was the one who located you and brought you here. With the knowledge and cooperation of the local police force,” he said in the same quiet voice. I hated him, yes, but I was grateful that he was keeping sound and light to a minimum just at the moment.

“Should’ve taken me to hospital or home,” I said. The penny dropped just then, and I said in a panicked voice, “Dawn!” Unfortunately, I tried to straighten myself up too quickly, and nearly undid all the good I’d done by lying there quietly.

“_Mademoiselle_ Giles is safe in your home. She is guarded by two female werewolves who are utterly trustworthy,” he answered.

“I want to talk to her,” I said, hating the whine in my voice. But I needed to be assured that Dawn was safe, no matter what the bastard thought of me.

“It is two o’clock in the morning, _Monsieur_. You would wake your daughter, should you call now,” he said, with the first hint of emotion other than amusement that I’d heard from him. Lovely. I’d managed to irritate the master of the city whilst I was naked and very much alone with him and under his authority. Still, as long as he was already irritated, I decided to push my point.

“She’ll be awake,” I answered, wondering if this grogginess would ever clear up. I couldn’t remember suffering quite this much with any other concussion I’d had before, with the possible exception of the one delivered by Gwendolyn Post. Even then, once the nausea passed, all I had to deal with was a headache and a few days of dizziness.

I heard Jean-Claude sigh as he brought a phone over. Before he handed it to me, he said, “If you hadn’t noticed, there is water on the nightstand. I shall return when you are finished speaking with your daughter.”

I started to thank him as a matter of form, but he’d already left the room. Instead, I took cautious sips of the water. When it was clear that my body had accepted it, I took several larger swallows. It was pure nectar, and I started to feel better almost immediately.

I dialed my home number, and when Dawn answered on the first ring, I said, “Hello, pet. It’s Dad.” I wished I sounded better than I did, but I knew Dawn would be happy simply with the confirmation that I was alive and awake.

“Finally,” she said quietly. “I was beginning to think you’d never call.”

“Just came back to the land of the conscious not long ago. Are you well?” It was a code question. If she gave me any answer other than —

“No. I’m not that deep,” she said promptly. I was relieved. She wasn’t being held hostage in our home, as I’d feared.

“I’m told you have body guards,” I said. I was still slurring a bit, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier. I thought the water might have contributed to that improvement.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” She sounded worried, and I didn’t blame her. I was fairly worried myself, and not just about the fact that I was naked and in Jean-Claude’s lair.

“Concussion, I think. But it’s not clearing up the way it should. Hold on —” I told her. A third wave of nausea hit, and I bent forward to put my head between my legs. It did nothing for my headache, but it did wonders to settle my stomach down again.

“Still there?” She sounded so terribly young just then, and I blamed Anita Blake for putting that fear and uncertainty into her voice. I considered briefly the various things I could do to punish her, then gave up thoughts of vengeance in favor of reassuring Dawn.

“Still here. Just making sure the water would stay down,” I answered in as cheerful a voice as I could manage. I think I sounded happier when Travers fired me after Buffy’s cruciamentum.

“Anita — Ms. Blake — said you needed to stay there for a while, yet. Are you going to be able to handle it?” Her concern was valid. It hadn’t happened often, but I still had the odd nightmare about the hours I spent suffering Angelus’ attentions. One incident, in particular, had caused her no end of worry while we were still in California.

“I’m fine, Dawn. I don’t see that I need to stay here. I just — I seem to be without clothing at the moment,” I said, embarrassed by the admission.

“I know. An — Ms. Blake stopped by a couple of hours ago to get some stuff for you,” she said. I didn’t tell her that Jean-Claude had lied to me. I was too livid to speak for a moment.

When I was able to control myself, I said, “They just haven’t gotten to me yet. I imagine I’ll see my things soon. And then I’ll come home.”

“I don’t think you should,” she answered. “I think you should stay there. Ms. Blake told me what happened.”

“What _did_ happen? I remember leaving the store, but not much after that,” I said, hoping to get answers that weren’t given to me by a vampire.

“No one’s told you?” I could just imagine the look on her face as she tried to sort out what she should say to me. If she was that reluctant to speak, I wouldn’t push the issue. Not with her, at any rate. Jean-Claude, on the other hand, was a different matter.

“No. Not yet. I’ll speak with _Monsieur_ Jean-Claude when he returns. I think it’s time for you to get into bed, now. I know you have morning classes, and you need to get your sleep,” I said. A thought occurred, and I quickly asked, “Will the weres go with you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said, confidently. “It’s all arranged. They’ll be with me until this is over. You should really talk to Jean-Claude — thanks for not making me tell you, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, confused by the faint tinge of guilt in her voice. “Goodnight, pet.”

“Goodnight, Dad. See you soon,” she said, just before hanging up.

I pressed the “off” button on the handset, and stared down at it for a moment. None of this was making any sense. Why wasn’t I in hospital? Where were the police to take a statement? Why was it necessary to send werewolves to guard Dawn? And why was she both casual over the situation and moderately guilt-ridden?

I’m not sure how long I sat there before Jean-Claude returned. It was impossible to tell time in that place, and my watch had gone missing. I finished the water on the nightstand, but I still didn’t feel well enough to stand. I was quite sick over the fact that for the first time in three and a half years, I could not protect Dawn myself.

“Did you wake your daughter?” He was behind me.

“No. She was awake already. I sent her to bed,” I said. I was feeling a bit more myself, but I didn’t yet have the energy to work up a good head of anger at him again. The brief flare of rage while I was on the phone with Dawn had used up my reserves. Perhaps in a little while, I would be able to fly off into a temper tantrum, but for now, I sounded weak and anxious. If I’d been in better shape — and even partially clothed — I probably could have made my appearance and mood work for me long enough to escape home. As it was, I would have to put up with him for a bit longer.

“Then it is good that you called,” he said in a neutral tone. I refused to look at him, so I had no idea what expression he might be wearing. I suspected, though, that his face showed no hint of what he was thinking.

“Yes. Especially since she told me someone had picked up clothing for me over two hours ago,” I said as calmly as I could.

“As you are my guest for the time being, it is up to me to provide for your needs,” he said. A hint of amusement had returned to his voice, and I shuddered at the thought of what he might provide for me to wear.

“My own clothing is sufficient. I’ll take that.” I sounded petulant, no doubt a result of the lingering effects of my injuries and the tension of being there, of being alone with a vampire without so much as a weapon to hand.

“And I would provide it, but Anita had to take a detour before she could come here with your things. Knowing _ma petite_, it may be another day before she thinks to drop them off. In the meantime, I offer you all the hospitality of my home,” he said. He’d moved closer.

I muttered, “Bloody wonderful,” as I reached back to try to loosen some of the tension in my neck. “Since I’m stuck here, perhaps you would be so kind as to explain how you are _not_ responsible for my presence here.” I realized I’d added waspish to petulant and whiny. So much for being a mature adult.

He hesitated for a long moment before saying, “Do you know who Abigail St. Clair is?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I answered without thinking, “Of course I do. She’s one of my better customers, and she’s a friend.”

He sounded a bit melancholy when he said, “She is no friend of yours, _mon ami_.”

I looked up at that and said, “I am most certainly _not_ your friend. And what has Abigail to do with this?” I was puzzled by the brief look of surprise that crossed his face. Did he honestly think we could get along?

“She is the one who attacked Anita the other night,” he said, his eyes intent on mine. “And she was the one who laid a compulsion on you to make you leave your store. You were found in her home.”

I shook my head, slowly so as not to jostle my brain any further, and said, “No. I don’t believe you. Abigail has no reason —”

“She believes she loves you, and that once you have been shown the error of your thinking, you will love her as well. Anita read it in the woman’s journal,” he interrupted, still looking deeply into my eyes. I couldn’t understand why he was doing that. It made the whole situation seem like it was straight out of a poorly-directed horror film.

“I know she has — feelings — but to do something like this?” I blinked in the dim light, trying to get hold of what he was telling me. Abigail couldn’t possibly behave like that. She was a gentle woman. A bit determined, yes, but to resort to attempted murder and kidnapping?

“You were naked and tied to an altar in her basement when you were found, _Monsieur_. She’d already fed you several potions. The police brought in a witch to determine what she’d given you. Some of the potions were designed to weaken your will and some were to bind you to her,” he told me.

“I was — and she —” I knew I looked like an idiot with my mouth hanging open, but what he said was incredible. Abigail? Gentle Abigail with the vegetable garden and a curiosity about the mystical properties of plants? She’d been to my home for dinner with the family several times, and I’d never picked up any kind of hint that she was delving into the darker magics.

“The witch brought in as a consultant was able to leach away many of the magics Ms. St. Clair had performed on you, but it is still possible for her to compel you. Anita brought you here, so that we could prevent you from answering her call,” he said. I was shaking my head, still unwilling to believe him. He added, “Anita told me to let you know that they entered her house with a fully correct search warrant, so that when they catch her, they will be able to put her on trial,” he said, watching me carefully. I still couldn’t understand why he was so puzzled by me, but then I finally processed what he said.

“Catch her? She’s still at large? Dawn!” I stood up too quickly and swayed. Despite that, I tried to catch the sheet and failed. Modesty and personal dislikes were quickly forgotten as I realized I would fall over if I couldn’t hold something solid. Jean-Claude caught me when I reached out blindly. With one hand on my arm, and the other on my back, he steadied me and sat me back down on the bed.

“Dawn is safe. Between my wolves and your wards, she will not be taken by Ms. St. Clair.” I could feel his hand moving gently over the scars on my back, and I wanted to tell him to stop. The problem was, his stroking felt too damn good and soothing. The last person to touch my scars with anything other than disgust or morbid curiosity had been Michelle, and that had been more than eight months earlier.

“I have to —” My voice trailed off as I lost myself in the sensation of having my back rubbed gently. More than five years after Angelus inflicted them, the scars on my back remained, for some reason, exquisitely sensitive. Under the right circumstances, having someone run a finger along one of them could be quite erotic. These were in no way the right circumstances, but his touch relaxed me more than I’d thought possible. It had to have been due to a lingering weakness brought about by my injuries and the poison I’d been fed. Otherwise, I was certain I would have pushed him away.

“Shh, _Monsieur_ Giles. You have had a very difficult time of it. You should sleep. And perhaps, when you awaken, you can tell me about the vampire who claimed you, yes?”

I was too drowsy to answer. His hand felt so good. It was cool, and he had a delicate touch. I thought I really needed to start dating again — perhaps Michelle might be interested in getting back together — then I drifted off without further protest.


	9. Chapter 9

_Journal of Rupert Giles_

_June 17, 2001_

_It seems as if the witch’s execution earlier this week has been the only thing on the news lately. CourtTV has been showing clips of the trial and execution, and CNN can think of little else to report. It’s odd that the woman’s name was Catherine Madison. She looked nothing like Amy’s mother, but the coincidence was rather startling, especially since she was from Santa Barbara, which in this world is in the same location as Sunnydale was in our world. Strange how there could be such different names for the towns, given that all the other town names are the same or close enough to count, as far as I can tell._

_I’ve tried to keep Dawn from watching television, but she wants to know everything. I imagine she’s a bit sensitive over the issue, considering how close she’d been to Willow and Tara. Too, she keeps grilling me on local, state and federal law concerning the use of magic. I’ve done my best to reassure her that if I’m caught, I won’t be tried for using magic in the commission of a crime, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. I think she’s waiting for reassurance that I won’t be caught, period, and I can’t give her that. I_ won’t _give her that kind of false promise._

_In any event, my activities aren’t even in the same sphere as the malevolence of the Madison woman. She’d caught her husband cheating on her some years earlier, and rather than getting a divorce and taking him for all he was worth, she decided to bind him to her permanently with magics. The spells were invidious, and it took a solid month for the state’s own witches to remove the castings. The magical bindings she’d created were so strong that it was feared he might die when she was executed. _

_A number of television stations have been broadcasting interviews with Charles Madison, and though I feel for the man, I can’t help but think he’s a right prat who got off easily. He freely admitted to having had affairs almost from the day the two of them were married, yet he’s still managed to garner an amazing amount of sympathy._

*****

September 15, 2004

My second waking in Jean-Claude’s lair wasn’t nearly as difficult as the first had been, though I did wonder who had tucked me back into bed. I had vague memories of being comforted, and I made every effort to keep them in soft-focus. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful. I remembered the sensation of Jean-Claude’s hand on my back and how wonderful it had felt just at that moment. Bloody hell.

And then I remembered his last words to me — about the vampire who’d claimed me. _Bloody_ hell.

I wasn’t sure what to do, or if I should do anything at all. It wasn’t as if he could force me to tell him. _Wait a moment,_ I thought. _That isn’t right. He can. All he has to do is catch my gaze and —_ I stopped chasing my thoughts, as I finally understood the reason behind Jean-Claude’s strange expression when we’d spoken earlier. He’d been trying to capture my mind, and he hadn’t been able to. At that point, I ran through an extensive list of names to call myself. I’d spent more than three years trying to blend into this society without garnering attention, and in less than forty-eight hours, I’d managed to completely nullify all my efforts. I sighed, then let out a small shriek when I heard someone clear his throat. I asked, “Who’s there?”

“Nathaniel,” he said. “I’ll light a candle, so you can see for yourself.”

“I recognize your voice,” I said. Then I asked, “I suppose you heard all that?”

“Yes.” He sounded vaguely embarrassed but also amused when he added, “I didn’t realize there were that many ways to describe a person so negatively. I think you’ve outdone Anita.”

“There are more ways, actually, but I’ve been trying to wean myself away from swearing. Dawn doesn’t like it, and it tends to upset the customers. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you have clothing for me?” I wasn’t terribly hopeful. I suspected that if Jean-Claude thought leaving me naked would make it easier to keep me here, he would make excuses until the cows came home. I sat up at the first flare of light, and I was happy to note that I wasn’t nearly as light-sensitive as I had been before. The nausea and dizziness were likewise gone, but a low-level headache remained.

“Anita never made it back. They found Mrs. St. Clair around four o’clock this morning, and she’s been working to keep her under lock and key,” he answered. “But Jean-Claude’s tailor delivered some stuff for you about an hour ago.” I watched him light enough candles to provide a rich, soft glow in the room. It was decorated in deep greens and golds, and I felt quite decadent lying in bed with the feel of silk against my skin. Jean-Claude had more than one way to seduce a person, and the sooner I was able to leave, the better.

“What time is it? I lost my watch somewhere along the line.”

“It’s just before seven — in the morning,” he said. “Do you want to take a bath before you get dressed?”

“A shower would be wonderful,” I told him as I spotted the robe at the foot of the bed. I leaned forward to snag it and chose to ignore Nathaniel’s sudden intake of breath. He wouldn’t ask about the scars, and I certainly had no intention of explaining them or even talking about them. I didn’t particularly care if he said anything to Ms. Blake. It was unlikely that she would pester me for an explanation. Jean-Claude, however, had every intention of determining their origin. Fortunately, it was after sunrise, so I didn’t have to worry about him showing up for a chat anytime soon.

The time of day also meant I could take as long as I needed in the shower. The fact of the matter was that I felt dirty. Abigail’s potions had served to keep me unaware for who knows how long before I was rescued. She could have done anything to me or with me, and I would never know, unless she told me herself. She had managed a feat few had accomplished — she behaved in a manner more evil than Angelus. _He_, at least, had wanted me conscious and aware of every little thing he was doing to me. When I passed out during the torture, he used smelling salts to revive me, just so he could continue with his little games.

I pulled the robe on and made sure I was decently covered before I tried to get out of bed. Standing was considerably easier than it had been earlier. Nathaniel came up to offer a steadying hand, but I declined, saying, “I think I can manage. Is that the bathroom?”

Nathaniel hovered a bit until I closed the door on him. I wasn’t sure if his behavior was driven by worry or by a desire to act in the capacity of a valet. Either way, I had no desire for him to fuss over me. I started the shower, and whilst I waited for it to reach the right temperature, I took off the robe and got my first good look at myself. The full-length mirror was lit with make-up lights, and they exposed every scrape, cut and bruise I’d acquired since the day before. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but I could remember looking worse after a particularly rough patrol with Buffy.

When I finally climbed into the shower, it was a moment of pure bliss, even though I recognized it as another of Jean-Claude’s seduction techniques. There were several adjustable shower heads, and it felt as if I were getting an all-over massage. There was a steam setting as well, but I left it alone. If I took a steam bath, I’d be so relaxed that chances were I’d never get around to leaving. As it was, I stayed under the water for a good half hour before I finally felt clean enough to face the day.

After brushing my teeth and shaving, I left the bathroom feeling like a new man. By this time, it was clear that I could tolerate light again, and I switched on two of the lamps. I enjoyed candlelight, but electric light was far more practical.

“Nathaniel? You said clothing was delivered for me?” He’d been curled up in an armchair, but now he stood, the very definition of grace in motion, and walked over to the wardrobe. He pulled out a charcoal grey suit, and held it up for my inspection.

“This is — well, it’s nice, and all, but I would have made do with jeans and a t-shirt,” I said, puzzled over why the master of the city would have gone to the trouble of having a suit sent over for me.

Nathaniel gave me a shy grin and said, “You should be happy he didn’t try to dress you the way he dresses his wolves. At least this can be worn anywhere.” He pulled out a shirt — in a deep green silk — and a black silk tie. One more trip into the wardrobe produced socks, shoes and black silk boxers. I debated leaving off the boxers, but I couldn’t do that to a perfectly innocent pair of suit trousers. I laid everything out on the bed, then waited for Nathaniel to leave.

He didn’t.

“Nathaniel, I’d like to get dressed now,” I said, hoping he would take the hint.

“I’ll help you,” he answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“No, you won’t,” I said as gently as possible. “You aren’t my personal servant, and I won’t have you behaving that way around me.” His face fell, and I felt as if I’d just kicked a puppy. Lovely. “Nathaniel, look at me — I have very firmly held beliefs about what my employees will and will not do in the line of duty, especially before they’re officially on the payroll.”

Had I planned on hiring him before that moment? I honestly couldn’t say. But his quick thinking had no doubt saved my life. At the very least, his actions saved me from a lifetime of mindless devotion to a woman who’d hidden her evil so well that it was possible she was responsible for far worse than she’d done to me. For that alone, he deserved an opportunity to prove himself.

He looked up at me with hope in his wide, violet eyes and said, “I’m your employee?”

“Yes, you are. You start on Monday, but only if you leave now and let me get dressed. Now shoo!” I made brushing motions to send him on his way, then turned my attention to getting dressed. It was an experience quite unlike any I’d ever had. Each piece felt as if it had been tailored to my exact measurements, but I couldn’t imagine anyone going out of their way to have a suit tailor-made that way for a guest. It didn’t matter — not really. As soon as I got home, I planned to change into my own clothing. Nathaniel could bring Jean-Claude’s suit back.

When I was dressed and ready to face the world again, I opened the bedroom door. Nathaniel was waiting just outside, and I said, “Can you drive me home? I’ve no idea where my glasses and wallet are, and I want to get there before Dawn leaves for class.”

“Jean-Claude hoped you would stay for the day,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Yes, well, I hope to meet the Queen of England, but that’s not likely to happen either,” I said dryly.

“He thought you’d feel that way, so he said to tell you he’d like you to come to dinner this evening,” Nathaniel said, his eyes cast downward now, as if he knew what my answer to that would be. He should, he’d already heard it once before. And besides, Dawn’s new boyfriend was coming over to eat with us this evening.

“You may tell him my answer hasn’t changed. Nathaniel, are you going to drive me home?”

“No. Not me. Jason will,” he answered unhappily.

“There, there. No reason for such a face,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. I still found myself resisting the urge to scratch him behind the ears, and it was mildly embarrassing. “You’ve delivered your messages, and nothing bad has happened. Where do I find this Jason?”

“Right here,” I heard from just down the hall. I jumped slightly, but happily, I didn’t shriek.

Vague memories from the first time I awoke prompted me to ask, “Were you the one who helped me earlier?”

Jason gave me a wide, engaging smile and said, “Yeah. Have to say that’s the first time anyone’s vomited after being in bed with me.”

I ignored his attempts to bait me — when it came right down to it, he had nothing on Ethan, who’d been a master at the art of getting me to react badly. Still, I couldn’t let his remarks pass entirely without comment, so I answered, “Perhaps a stricter interest in personal hygiene will prevent future such occurrences. I’d like to go home now.”

*****

Did I run away from Jean-Claude? Absolutely. But the expression on Dawn’s face when I got home was worth the effort, as was the fact that I was well away from him for the time-being. With Nathaniel now on the payroll, though, I doubted my respite from Jean-Claude’s attention would last very long. But if he was too persistent to leave a question unanswered, then I was too stubborn to be pushed into doing something I didn’t want to do. I doubted that we were looking at a _Clash of the Titans_ scenario, but I thought the next few months would no doubt prove to be interesting.

My reunion with Dawn was brief, as she had to get to class, but she warned me to expect a visit from the police at some point during the day. They apparently needed my statement, though I wasn’t sure what I could tell them. Unless they had a technique for helping me regain those lost hours, I wouldn’t even be able to testify that I’d seen her yesterday. The best any of us could hope for was that the evidence gathered from her home would be enough to convict her. Angry though I was with her, I wasn’t sure how I felt about her possible conviction. Given her use of magic, both to try to kill Ms. Blake and to control me, it would be a death penalty case. Was I really prepared to accept her death as a suitable punishment? I didn’t know, and the question and lack of an answer troubled me greatly.

After apologizing somewhat profusely for having tried to convince me to date Abigail, Dawn told me she wasn’t sure what time the police would be here, so she would do the grocery shopping this afternoon. Evidently Brian liked grilled burgers, so at least the meal would be simple enough to cook. Just before she ran off to classes, I told her Nathaniel would be working for us starting next Monday.

“Good. I was going to beat you about the head and face with a whisk broom if you didn’t hire him,” she said as she walked out the door.

“Cheeky brat,” I muttered.

“Cheesy Brit,” she called back, unwilling to let me have the final word.

I smiled as she ran down the steps. It had been a difficult two days, but honestly, I’d withstood worse. With Abigail in custody, I could work on cleansing my aura and removing whatever spells she’d cast on me, all the while ignoring troublesome questions about what might or might not have happened whilst I was under her power. Dawn had a promising new beau, and I had a new employee. Though it was clear we could never again be able to blend in without notice, I thought it might be possible to deflect attention from us for the most part.

All in all, September was turning out to be a very intriguing month indeed.

~fin~


End file.
